Hired Help
by DoYouMindIfISlytherin
Summary: In a world where Voldemort has won, a twenty three year old Harry Potter is struggling to make ends meet. When he discovers Ginny is pregnant, he is terrified by the prospect of raising a child on the run. he can barely feed himself, let alone a kid. So he does something he never thought he'd do; become an assassin. Eventual slash.
1. What are we still doing

(_A/N It's happened again. Damn my short attention span and my overactive imagination. Just keep in mind that this one, like my others, is an eventual slash, and like Thank You, it doesn't have any real direction and may end up being incomplete. Anyway, I love you all and happy reading.)_

Hermione sat in semi darkness, Harry across from her, his head in his hands, looking pale. Ron was due back any moment, but nothing was guaranteed those days.

He might not ever come home.

And that thought scared Hermione more than anything.

Harry started tapping his fingers on the rickety table before him, a nervous tic that he had only recently developed. This only happened when Ginny wasn't around. He seemed more at ease with her present, but lately he had not been bringing her to the Order headquarters.

Hermione wondered why that was, but kept her questions to herself. She had to, most days. No one wanted to talk, especially not about the war and what it was doing to them.

What the obvious and unavoidable outcome would be.

Harry's fingers beat against the table at a rapid pace, another hand still holding his head up. He looked much more weary than usual that night, and Hermione was close to asking him what was wrong.

She didn't.

He was likely to snap at her, and she hated making him angry.

An icy breeze rolled through the hallway and into the dining room of the headquarters, signaling that someone had opened the door.

Hermione stood up before she realized what she was doing and half ran through the dining entrance, and threw her arms around Ron, who was a little startled by the embrace. Harry remained behind, head in his hand, staring at the far wall.

"Hey, 'Mione." Ron muttered into his wife's hair.

"I'm glad you're safe," She told him, tightening her grip.

He was always grateful to make it back to her, even if the mission was a simple and relatively safe one.

Though he would never admit it out loud, he loved the more dangerous missions, because when he arrived home, Hermione always doted on him.

"How is he?" He asked, his voice still muffled by her hair.

"Tense. As usual. Why? Has something else happened?" Hermione asked, pulling back from the embrace, worry in her tone.

"He didn't tell you?" Ron asked, concern written on his freckle strewn face.

"Tell me what?" She whispered harshly, worried that something horrible had happened. More horrible than usual, at least.

"Ginny told me something this afternoon, when I went over there." Ron seemed reluctant to share the information, which concerned Hermione further.

"What? What did she say?" She pressed, still speaking in a whisper, Harry was still in the dining room, and could likely hear their hushed tones. She didn't want him to investigate, at least not until Ron had spilled the beans.

"She's pregnant."

Hermione brought her hand to her mouth and her eyes went wide.

"Oh no," She didn't bother whispering this time, she was to shocked.

"Yeah. Great, isn't it?" The sarcastic voice came from behind Hermione and she jumped and spun, guilt on her face.

"Harry, I'm so sorry." She was partly apologizing for being so nosy, and partly for the fear he must be feeling at bringing a child into this world.

"Don't be. It's done. She wont reconsider. So what did you find out?" Harry turned his attention to Ron, who was standing silent behind his bushy haired wife.

Hermione desperately wanted Harry to talk about what she had just discovered, but he had obviously moved on, and there was no getting anything out of the Chosen One when he had that look of resolve on his face.

"It's what we thought it was. One of those damn freelance assassins as usual. Probably working for You-Know-Who, but who isn't these days." Ron sighed and leaned into the staircase, directly where Sirius' mother's portrait used to hang.

"Us," Hermione stated with conviction.

"Lot of good that does." Harry snorted in response.

Hermione wished that she could bring back that old spark in Harry, the glint he used to get in his eyes when he spoke about Voldemort. That certainty that they were going to win.

But it was gone, just like so much else.

"Any idea which one?" Harry asked without missing a beat, obviously not wanting the bushy haired witch to say anything about his previous comment.

Ron mostly let it slide, and Hermione was getting closer to letting it go.

Harry knew, without a shadow of a doubt that what they were doing was pointless. He wanted them to know it too.

They only continued with the order's work because it was all they knew, and it was the only thing they could do.

There was nothing else for them.

"This one was brutal. Didn't know the poor woman who copped it but it was really close to what happened to Aberforth."

"Close how?" Harry asked, intrigued despite himself. If it was the same freelance that got Aberforth, Harry would love to get his hands on him. Aberforth had been a great help to them from time to time.

Not that he could really do much, Hermione insisted that these people didn't deserve to die, and any that they did manage to get into Azkaban under false names and posing as Ministry officials, most were released days later.

Harry, once again, wondered what the hell he was still doing here.

Why he even bothered.

"Skinned. Nailed to her families front door, same as Aberforth. Only he was nailed to his pub."

Hermione blanched at Ron's matter of fact tone.

"Anything else to suggest it was the same assassin? It could have been the same contractor." Harry asked, knowing that most likely, the contractor was either Voldemort, or someone who did his bidding for him.

It was one of the most sought after jobs, being an assassin. The pay was high, and mostly, no one ever had to meet the assassin that they were hiring, which lent itself to the assassin's feeling a whole lot safer about what they did.

Voldemort still made enemies for himself, and he was one of the main contractors for the freelancers getting around.

"Maybe, but it seems so similar, you know? Like anyone could order someone to be skinned, but this was in the same manner as Aberforth. So I think it's likely the same guy." Ron seemed convinced, and Harry decided that he might as well go with it. Even if it wasn't the same guy, what difference did it really make?

"Find anything that might lead us to him?" Harry asked, not much hope in his voice.

"Not yet," Ron sighed, leading Harry back into the dining room and gently moving Hermione out of his path.

Hermione let out a whoosh of breath and decided to call it a night, Harry and Ron would likely be talking about the assassin for most of the night, and when they discussed things like that, they barely ever let her get a word in edge wise. She followed Ron into the dining room and kissed his check.

"I love you," She smiled at him, and he smiled back, though it didn't reach his tired eyes.

"I love you too."

And with that, she made her way up to her and her husband's room.

They had long ago set up home in the old headquarters.

Harry had given it to them, saying that he could never live there. Not after Sirius had died. He had enough trouble just holding their meetings there.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked. They had long ago run out of things to say about the murder, and now, Harry sat drunk in front of a sober Weasley.

This had become a usual thing. Harry couldn't afford alcohol, so he drank the vintage wine he found in the basement of Ron and Hermione's house. Ron had always doubted the safety of anything that the Blacks kept in the cellar, but Harry didn't seem to care. And so far, there had been no adverse affects.

So every time Harry arrived, Ron would fetch another bottle.

"Pshh. Tha' fuck you think? Yer sister's fuckin' pregancy, I can't put feed in 'er mouth. Am I Fuckin' okay he says."

Ron said nothing to this.

"We lost. What're we still doin'?" Harry slurred. He said things like this when he was drunk, and Ron had a feeling he more than wanted to say them when he was sober.

"We haven't lost." This was Ron's response every time, and usually Harry shook his head disgustedly and said nothing more. This time though, he didn't appear to be finished.

"Was over when Dumbledore fell from the tower. Was over when Sirius died. Was over when we got the number of horcruxes wrong. Was over when he took over the minstree. Was over when yer mum died. Was over when Tonks and Remus died. Was over when the Death Eaters where released from Azkaban. Was over so damn long ago I can't even fuckin' make any GOD DAMNED SENSE OF WHAT WE'RE DOIN'! WHAT ARE WE DOIN' HERE! TELL ME!" Harry stood up so fast he sent the table flying into Ron, bruising the other mans legs.

"Harry-"

"Shut up. Unless you have somthin' useful to say jus' shut up." Harry swayed on his feet as Ron removed himself from under the now broken dining table.

"Harry?" The tired feminine voice came from Harry's left.

"Is everything okay?"

The Chosen One was so sick of hearing those words.

"Don' even get me started on how not fuckin' alright things are," Harry slowly turned to Hermione, anger blazing in his eyes.

"We're going to die," Harry spat, all traces of his drunkenness gone.

"And no one can see it but me." He barged past Hermione and out the front door, not bothering to check that it was safe, and apparating as soon as he was out of the wards.

_(A/N first chapter is short, but it seemed like the perfect place to end it.)_


	2. Little shack on a rock

_(A/N as I previously mentioned, I only have about four or five chapters of this lined up in my head. But that doesn't mean that I wont get further inspiration. And it doesn't mean I will. My main priority is LT, so this will most likely fall to the back burner. Fun fact, this story came to me while I was playing grand theft auto 4, and I was doing one of the assassin missions. I'd just written a chapter for LT, and this appeared.)_

Harry and Ginny's home was the safest place that the Boy Who Lived could find at the time, and it too, like the Order Headquarters, held bittersweet memories for him.

But so far, he could think of no where safer. The only people who knew where it was was Hagrid, Herminone, Ron and the Dursley's. Hagrid was long gone. Harry didn't know what had happened to his so called family, but he honestly didn't care to find out, and Ron and Hermione were as safe as he was.

So Harry stood in front of a ramshackle hut on a rock in the middle of the ocean. The place where he had ushered in his eleventh birthday and discovered he was a wizard.

He now felt completely sober and was angry and ashamed of himself for losing it at Ron and Hermione.

The door creaked in protest to his opening it, and Ginny immediately sat up from her place on the floor. She had obviously been trying to get to sleep on the shaggy double mattress. Her hair was mussed and she smiled weakly at him in greeting.

"Harry," Her voice cracked with sleep.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, gesturing to her stomach.

"Hungry," She admitted.

"Did you bring any food?"

Harry wanted to bang his head on the wall for not thinking of it. How could he forget to find food? Or at least ask Ron if he had anything spare.

"We still have some potatoes." Was his answer, and Ginny frowned. Harry was still standing at the door.

"I think that those have died. Even with the preservation charm."

"I could have a look? See if I can make some fries?" He offered anyway.

She sighed but nodded and laid back down, and Harry had a feeling that when he was done with the potatoes, she would be asleep anyway.

The potatoes, just as Ginny had said, didn't look healthy.

Harry gouged out the worst parts with the end of a spoon and cut up the remainder with his wand, not bothering even attempting to do it with the knife in the drawer. It was to blunt to cut anything with and Harry had never bothered to learn any type of spell to sharpen a knife.

Now he wished he had. Any drain on his magic, even something simple, was exhausting. He didn't get enough sleep or enough food to have enough strength to fight let alone use a bullshit easy spell. Even his apparation was getting sloppy.

Any food that he did find, he volunteered to Ginny, especially now that she was carrying his child. He spent his nights on watch, not that there was anything to watch for.

He wondered what would happen when a Death Eater spotted him. A simple stunner would probably kill him, weak as he was.

He really did have no idea what was keeping him going.

Maybe it was Ginny. Maybe now it was the child she carried.

Whatever it was, Harry wasn't sure if he was grateful or spiteful for it. He wanted this to be over, and anything that stopped him from simply giving up was becoming more of a burden than a blessing.

Harry sighed and lit the old fashioned stove with a match, struggling with the paper that always seemed to be damp.

He had no oil to fry the potato with, and had to deal with a pan that had lost all of it's non stick properties.

When he was finished cooking, the 'fries' literally looked like slightly brown mush.

He was so frustrated with not being able to provide for Ginny, and though she never said anything, he knew she wasn't happy about it either.

And now she was having his baby.

How the hell was he supposed to feed and clothe a child in this mess? They were fugitives, he was the number one on the Dark Lord's hit list.

How could he run with a defenseless child?

He couldn't. That was how.

He woke Ginny and took a few bites of the mush to appease her, and let her eat the rest. It was not an enjoyable meal by any stretch of the imagination, but it was nourishment.

It didn't take long for Ginny to fall back to sleep with a full stomach.

Harry sat in the corner, facing the door with his wand in his hand, waiting and almost wishing that an enemy would burst through it.

As usual, no one did.

Harry woke with a start, his head slumped over his shoulder at an angle that made his neck ache.

He had fallen asleep in the corner, on the floor, as he so often did. He raised his head and looked blearily around the room, and noticed instantly that Ginny was not there.

"Ginny?" He called, fear bubbling in his gut, though it was not unusual for her to try her luck at fishing early in the morning, using one of the rods that Vernon must have left behind.

Sometimes she caught something and they ate well, but mostly the fish were small and useless.

Ginny remained optimistic and used the small fish as bait.

Harry told her time and time again that the fish thought this was a crap part of the ocean, and he couldn't agree more.

"In here," She called back, and relief flooded him.

She was in the bathroom, most likely having a bath in the tub she transfigured from a bucket. Harry envied her abilities, she seemed to retain so much of her magical strength even when he couldn't.

That and even at full strength Harry had never been able to transfigure cheese into grated cheese.

"You okay?" He asked, getting up off the floor.

"Yeah, come in here," She sounded pleased with herself.

Harry did as he was asked, and found the bathtub full of steaming water, and a smiling Ginny Weasley.

"I made you a bath." She grinned at him.

The two of them seldom used magic anymore, and the fact that the bath was steaming and didn't smell like sea water was amazing.

"You used magic?" He asked, almost ready to chastise her about using it, but not willing to remove the smile from her face.

"Just a little. You look like you need it. Here," She said, reaching for his shirt and pulling it over his head.

"I'll wash these for you while you're in there," She smiled again and waited for him to remove his pants, and he couldn't help but smile back.

No matter how hard life was, Ginny always managed to smile. It was times like this that Harry hated himself for being bitter.

Harry slipped out of his jeans, and Ginny left the room with a skip in her step. He marveled at the things that made her happy.

Harry practically melted into the bath, sighing in relief as the kink in his neck faded. He made a note to do something extra special for her in return.

When he got out of the bath, he found his clothes on the other side of the door, clean and dry. He frowned again at the thought of Ginny using magic again, especially now that she needed to keep up her strength.

When the smell of cooking fish hit his nose, his frown deepened. It was a rare thing to catch a fish, let alone one that smelt so good. He quickly dressed and followed the smell, and found Ginny humming in front of the frying pan, oil spitting all over the place. In the pan was a great fat fish, larger than she had ever caught.

It didn't escape him that they didn't have oil the night before.

"Ginny? How much magic are you using?" Harry was wary. She never used magic unless it was absolutely imperative.

"just a little here and there. I feel fine. Fish?" Harry sat next to her on the floor and watched her carefully for any signs of exhaustion.

"Thank you for the bath," He said, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

"But you know its not a good idea to use magic. Especially now."

She glanced at him sharply.

"You mean because I'm pregnant I can't use magic?" She snapped.

"That's not what I meant. It's to much of a strain. One or two little things is fine, but you've experienced magical exhaustion, you know how hard it can be on you. Why are you doing all this now?"

She looked back at the pan, poking at it with the worn and bent spatula.

"I thought you would be grateful." She grumbled.

"I am grateful. I don't think I've felt this clean in years. And the fish looks amazing. I'm just worried you're going to hurt yourself with all this." He brushed a flyaway strand of hair back behind her ear and noticed that she flinched minutely. Before he could ask about it, she spoke again.

"I feel fine." She repeated.

She used her wand to remove the scales from the fish while it was still in the pan, and Harry's still there frown deepened once more.

"Ginny," The warning in his tone was clear.

"What?" She snapped.

"Can't we eat well for once? Just for one day forget the consequences and just do something?" She was incredibly agitated, and Harry kept quiet.

Maybe she was right, after all. She did deserve one worry free day.

"I wont be here later, you know." Harry said after a few moments of tense silence.

Ginny didn't reply straight away, instead she served up two chunks of fish onto metal plates, passing Harry one.

"I know, Harry." She sighed as she spoke, and the dark haired man beside her knew that she hated him being gone.

It was a daily occurrence, and though she was used to it, she wasn't happy about it.

Another thought hit Harry then, and though he knew she would be angry that he asked, he had to ask anyway.

"What if while I'm gone you magically exhaust yourself?"

She slammed her fork into the fish with more force than necessary and turned to glare at him. Harry raised his hands in the universal 'I give up' signal. He then stabbed his own fork into the fish.

If only they could use their magic everyday to catch food.

But the one time Harry had tried to bait a fish, the fact that he had never performed the spell put more strain on him than it would other wise.

And though Ginny seemed fine, he knew that she wasn't familiar with the spell either. She wouldn't be able to do it everyday.

Which was a shame, really, because the meal was quite possibly the best thing he had eaten since Molly Weasley's cooking.

With a stab he remembered how he had brought up Molly's death to Ron so callously the night before. Ginny would have slapped him, had she been there.

Harry became to full to fast on the fish, and couldn't finish the rest. He knew he would throw it all back up if he tried.

He stood, thanking Ginny for the fish and putting the fish in the cupboard with the preservation charm.

The charm had taken both Harry's and Ginny's strength for nearly two days, but it was a far sight better than wasting food.

Harry threw his overcoat on, which he should have done as soon as he had gotten out of the bath. It was far to close to winter and he was far to skinny to withstand the cold.

"I'm going to head over to Hermione and Ron's. I'll try to bring back more firewood." Harry said, preparing to leave.

"Alright," Was her farewell. The two never said I love you to each other, and seldom ever touched, let alone had sex.

Harry never initiated. It was always Ginny. And the Boy Who Lived wold never admit it to anyone but himself, but he was fine with that.

He'd never been a very sexual person, and it had always been awkward for him.

He was honestly surprised that she had fallen pregnant, because even though they couldn't afford to make or buy contraceptive potions, they so rarely had sex that it was laughable.

But, Ginny had wanted sex, and Harry had dutifully appeased her needs. That had been over two months ago. The time before that was verging on a year.

Harry sighed and turned on the spot, finding himself, within seconds, in front of the Order.

Or, now, it was simply an old house filled with bad memories and people who couldn't see that it was time to let go.

He grimaced at his own dark thoughts and pushed the front door open, not bothering with knocking.

"Harry!" Hermione yelped.

"You startled me," She put her hand to her chest and laughed a little. She was halfway down the stairs, and was still dressed in her pajamas.

No one really bothered getting dressed anymore.

There was no where to go, and everyone they came in contact with honestly didn't give a rats ass what they were wearing.

"Sorry, Hermione. Whould've knocked," He trailed of in saying this, because of course he wouldn't have knocked. He never did.

"So, um. How's Ginny today?"

Harry scoffed. He knew what she wanted to talk about. She wanted him to say something about last night. He wasn't going to. He was going to ignore it ever happened.

"She's being an idiot." Harry replied.

"What do you mea-" The bushy haired witch began.

"She's using to much magic." Harry interupted.

"But she's-" Hermione started, concerned.

"Try telling her that." Harry walked on down the hall, not waiting for a reply.

Ron was in the kitchen, serving up what looked to be boiled carrots onto two plates.

"Harry, thought I heard you. Hungry?" Ron greeted, and Harry shock his head. The red head raised an eyebrow at Harry's refusal but carried on with just two plates.

"Glad you're here early, I went back to the scene last night, after," Ron trailed off, looking uncertain.

"Anyway, I found this. Lucky I went back." Ron dropped something small on the table, and it looked to be a coin while it spun. Harry stopped it and picked it up. The red head went back to serving up the carrots and moved on to what looked like chicken. Harry wondered how he had gotten his hands on that.

The Boy Who Lived examined the coin and realized that it was actually a gold button. With initials engraved.

"He must be real poncey to get his initials carved into a bloody button." Ron called from the stove.

"But I'm bloody glad he did."

Harry continued looking at the small metal button, mostly ignoring Ron's excited yammering.

It really didn't mean anything. It could have been anyone's button. Harry turned it over in his fingers. It could have even been the victims.

Not for the first time, Harry wished that he could have nice things like that. He kept it to himself, of course.

But he longed for the days when he had had enough money to buy whatever he wanted.

He supposed poverty and starvation did that to a person.

"Could have been the woman's," Harry said at last, still staring at the ornately carved D. S.

"Nah, her name was Mary-Anne. And no one in her family has a last name beginning with S." Ron answered, reentering the dining area and placing the two plates down on the table, which someone had obviously repaired since the night before.

"Besides, none of them were very well off. No one but an assassin these days can afford solid gold buttons."

Harry's eyebrows raised and he twirled the button once more. Solid gold? This could feed Ginny for a month.

"So we have initials." He placed the button down on the wood before he got any ideas about pilfering it.

"We have more than that," Ron proclaimed, carrot dangling from his mouth.

"We have two names," He said after he had swallowed. Hermione joined them, now fully dressed.

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Damien Striker and Dillan Strahowski. They came from that list we got from Fred and George."

Fred and George worked in the Ministry, or what was left of it. They kept to themselves, occasionally stealing Intel from the Death Eaters that now ran the place. They were paid poorly and treated like dogs, but no one had killed them yet. Harry knew it would only be a matter of time. Not that he told Ron that.

This list contained names of the most sought after assassins, and Harry had mostly forgotten about it. The most renowned freelancers tended to be the hardest to find, and they had never risked getting close to one.

"Are you sure that that is even going to be remotely helpful?" Harry asked after a moment.

"Well, I was thinking, that we could try to hire one." Ron said, and Hermione spat a small bit of chicken on the table.

"Are you insane?" She squawked.

"Well, think about it. How else are we going to get close? Everything else we've tried has been a bust." The red head scooped more carrot into his mouth and awaited Harry's opinion.

"Most assassins," Harry began carefully, not wanting to burst Ron's bubble but knowing he was going to anyway,

"Don't meet with their clients. Especially the ones on that list."

Ron just shrugged.

"We could chose someone for him to assassinate, then watch that person like a hawk."

Harry considered this, while Hermione looked between the two of them, slack jawed.

"Why don't we hire both, and you watch for one, I watch for the other. That way, we'll get him for sure." Ron continued, picking up steam.

Harry never went out in the open any more. It was Ron who did those types of things. They couldn't disguise themselves, and it would be a lot more violent if Harry was found, then if Ron was.

So the Boy Who Lived never went anywhere. He helped plan and stayed with Hermione, waiting for Ron to return.

He honestly no longer cared about being the hero, so he was happy with the arrangement.

"I don't know about that," Harry began.

"It'll be fine. We'll catch the bastards, just you wait."

Harry could say, with conviction, that he couldn't give flying shit what happened anymore.

Even to himself.

The only person he cared about was Ginny, and he couldn't even take care of her.

Maybe this was a good idea.

Maybe he could rob the assassin while he was at it.

Or he might just surrender himself, lay down his wand, spread his arms out wide and-

"So I'll write the letters now then?" Ron chirped, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

"Why not." Was his answer.


	3. Already dead

_(A/N so, if you're liking this story I'm pleased to inform you that it has completely overtaken my mind, and at this current moment, I cannot stop writing it. I have literally more inspiration than I've ever had with LT and TY doubled and combined. Which is not to say that I'm going to stop writing those two. Okay, I'm shutting up.)_

It hadn't taken long to get a reply from Dillan, and Harry chose him as his target. He couldn't fathom why, but he now wanted, desperately, to hunt this guy down.

Maybe it was boredom.

Or it could have been the small niggling idea at the back of his mind that he was going to rob the guy. Screw Hermione's sensibilities, he had mouths to feed, and a baby on the way.

As it was, Ginny wasn't getting enough sustenance to carry a child to full term, and he was getting desperate.

The target that Ron had chosen to hire Dillan for was a Death Eater whose name Harry couldn't even remember.

In the assassin's reply, he had said to give him two days, tops, for the kill to be completed.

He had also mentioned that he expected to be payed four thousand galleons for the service. Harry's eyes had bulged near out of his head when he read this. He knew that freelancers charged a lot, but that was just insane.

What he would give to have that kind of money again.

Harry was about to apparate to the Death Eaters home, and he stood in the hallway of Ron's house.

Hermione had given him three pepper up potions, and a nourishment potion, in case he needed to fight.

Harry didn't doubt that he would at least have to draw his wand.

He thanked Hermione for her thoughtfulness, potions were near impossible to come by.

The Boy Who Lived was bringing a potion of his own.

A bottle of veritaserum that he had been keeping since before the war really heated up. It was almost always tucked in his pocket, but so far he had never had a reason to use it.

"So you know what you've got to do?" Ron spoke for what Harry swore was the first time, but he nodded anyway.

"Yeah, I know."

Harry said his goodbyes and pulled his hood up over his head, opening the door and apparating as soon as he was out of the wards.

Ron had given him the address for the target, and apparently the red head was not at all fond of the Death Eater. Harry had no idea who he was. Maybe he'd just forgotten.

It didn't really matter.

He found himself in front of a small but elegant cabin in woods he couldn't identify.

He kept to the shadows, glad for the moonless night, and climbed the tree with the best view of the inside of the cabin.

He saw the Death Eater almost instantly. He was sitting by a fire, drinking what looked to be brandy or something similar, and reading a rather thick book. He appeared to live alone, judging by the size of the cabin.

Harry downed one of the pepper up potions and waited.

An hour later, a shadow not far below him caught his eye. It certainly looked human, and Harry drew in a quiet breath, drawing his hooded cloak closer to himself.

The shadow made it's way to the front door of the home, and Harry noticed that the Death Eater was asleep in his chair, the glass of brandy spilled on the carpet.

Dillan, if that was his real name, must have been waiting for this. Harry prayed to whoever was listening that the assassin hadn't been there long enough to see his arrival. Surprise was the only thing that Harry had over the freelancer.

But surely the assassin would pull him out of the tree by his feet if he knew Harry was there?

The Chosen One debated climbing down now and stopping him before he could complete the kill, but he really didn't care.

Despite himself, he slowly lowered himself from the tree, and crept closer to the cabin. His lightness definitely lent to his stealth, and for the first time, he was glad for it.

He avoided the light spilling out from the windows, and watched the shadow that was now inside and directly behind the sleeping Death Eater. He wondered idly how the assassin made himself look like nothing but blackness. It must have come in handy.

Harry paused, not quite bothered enough to stop the assassin before things got bloody. And a small part of himself was getting a thrill from watching this.

A glint of gold caught his eye, and before he could discern what it was, the Death Eaters neck became a bloody fountain.

_A knife, _Harry realized.

_And a beautiful one at that. _He thought to himself, completely nonplussed by the still spraying artery of the Death Eater. He had seen so much death that it truly didn't bother him. As long as it wasn't someone important to him.

The now obviously dead man hadn't even woken during the attack, and Harry wondered how that was.

"Enjoy the show?"

The Voice startled Harry so severely that as he spun he tripped, landing hard on his tail bone. The force of his landing removed his hood, and he heard a low chuckle in response.

"Well look at that," The voice was deep and seemed as if it was coming from all around him.

Harry fumbled around for his wand that he had dropped when he fell, and was glad to find it almost instantly.

"Where are you?" Harry growled, angry at having lost his advantage.

"Shhh," The voice purred.

"I wont hurt you. I'll make it quick."

A glint of gold followed the assassins words.

Harry's heart thundered in his chest. He still couldn't see where the assassin was, and the gold glint seemed to be everywhere now.

_Why don't you just give up? _A little voice said, and his heart immediately slowed down. What a good idea.

His hand was already holding his wand rather loosely.

_Just give up, _the little voice was so soothing, and so convincing.

"You'll fetch a pretty penny, Harry Potter." The voice came again from everywhere at once.

Harry's hand clenched around his wand, before he dropped it beside himself.

"Thank God." Harry actually laughed as he spoke, he was so relieved. He wondered why he hadn't just wandered out onto the street and let the first Death Eater to see him have their way.

Harry let himself fall back onto the ground, still laughing.

"You have a death wish then?" The voice was closer, so close he could feel the breath on his face. But he still couldn't see him. Harry giggled in a slightly high pitched way.

"Wouldn't you?" Harry sighed, feeling, oddly, more at ease than he ever remembered feeling.

The freelancer chuckled in response. Harry felt something sharp drag along his face, and realized that it was the knife.

Harry leaned into the blade and hissed as it cut into his cheek.

"Did you know that I came here, mostly, to rob you?" The knife was removed and Harry almost insisted that it be put back.

It was quickly replaced by a finger that dragged slowly across the wound, making his breathing hitch, though not from fear.

If he were honest he'd say he was excited, almost aroused by the prospect of dying here. He wasn't really surprised by this realization. Merely amazed that he hadn't noticed before how much he wished he could just give up.

A man appeared before him then, his face inches from Harry's. He was kneeling above the Boy Who Lived.

His hair was dark and hung around his face like a curtain, and even in almost pitch blackness, Harry could see that one of his eyes was so blue, it almost radiated a light of it's own.

"Is that so?" The man mumbled.

"Well I can safely say that I wasn't expecting you, of all people, to show up here." His finger was now digging deeper into the wound, and Harry still did nothing to defend himself. No wave of self preservation appeared to be coming on.

Harry didn't reply to the assassin.

"Most people think that you're already dead." The blue eyed man continued.

"So why were you planning on robbing me and not stopping me?"

"The stopping was going to happen afterward." Harry pressed his cheek into the mans hand, hoping to spur him into action.

"Are you sure about that?"

Harry was about to say yes, but why lie? If he were honest, there was a big part of him that was simply going to let the assassin get away with it. Tell Ron and Hermione that he had been to late.

"No. I don't think I would have stopped you."

The hand was replaced by the knife, and the assassin drew it down slowly towards his neck. A small moan escaped Harry's lips with no warning.

"And why is that," The man's voice had taken on a husky quality, and when Harry replied he noticed that his was the same.

"Because you might be just like me. Maybe you have mouths to feed." Harry wasn't sure if that was his real answer or if there was some other reason.

"Hmm, no. no mouths. But I enjoy money." The freelancer chuckled and shifted so he could drag the knife slowly down Harry's chest. The knife was so sharp that it simply cut his shirt open.

"Given another few days, I think you might have just died on your own," Dillan commented, spreading Harry's shirt open with thin fingers.

"How many mouths do you feed?"

"One, one on the way." Harry's voice was growing much harder to understand, the lower the knife went.

"One on the way?"

"Hmm, girlfriend's pregnant." Ginny and Harry had never had the opportunity to get married. By the time they had gotten engaged, the government was poised to fall into the hands of Voldemort, and they could hardly hire a minister to marry them. They might as well have signed their own death warrants along with the marriage certificate.

"Hence the plan to rob me?" The knife came so close to the edge of Harry's pants that he groaned and shifted under the blade. If his arousal wasn't plain as day before, it was now. Harry had never pictured himself as someone with a penchant for pain, but there it was, blindingly obvious.

"Just do it. What are you waiting for?" Harry was losing patience, and was becoming increasingly embarrassed by his body's reactions to the knife.

The assassin stood, startling Harry.

"Get up,"

"What?" Harry stared incredulously at the freelancer, wondering what exactly happened to the 'kill Harry and turn him over for heaps of money' plan.

"You need food."

"What? What the fuck for?" Harry asked, sitting up.

"I thought there was a plan in place here? I'm worth a lot of money you know," Harry prodded, and the assassin snorted.

"If there's something I have a lot of, it's money. One thing I lack, however, is company. I have an idea that I would like to propose to you."

Harry stared at the dark spot that he assumed was the assassin, wide eyed.

"Now get up. I'm sure that that guy's got some food in there."

Harry remained on the ground, absolutely flabbergasted as to how this situation had gotten so out of his control.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin,"

Harry felt himself being yanked upwards by his armpits, and set into a standing position.

"Come inside," Dillan said, pulling Harry along by the arm.

It wasn't long afterwards that Harry found himself seated in the small but cozy dining room, watching the assassin who minutes before trailed a knife down his chest, cook him a steak.

Which was completely ridiculous, to say the least.

He found himself looking around the room, and was shocked by the amount of tiny puppy figurines.

Harry found it hard to believe that a Death Eater would have such a cute home, and cute was the only word he could think of to describe it.

Those days though, most people were Death Eaters.

Not just the scary crazy types that Voldemort tended to attract.

Almost everyone wore the Dark Mark to symbolize where their allegiance lied, and most of them had never been in the presence of the Dark Lord.

Harry shifted again, his arousal still very present. He readjusted himself under the table and hoped that the blue eyed man hadn't seen any of it, because it was just shameful. He'd been wounded before, and he had never had this reaction.

"How do you like it?" The assassin asked. And Harry had to think for a moment to realize that he meant the steak.

"Rare, with a shot of whiskey."

The blue eyed man laughed.

Harry had gotten a good look at the freelancer when they entered the cabin, and the overly blue eye was brighter than even Harry had expected. Through it ran a jagged scar, which told Harry that he was actually blind in that eye.

Even though he was an assassin, he sported no other visible scars.

Which meant that he was either good, or new.

Judging by the fact that his name was on the list, Harry assumed he was the former. No newbie got on that list.

His hair was shoulder length, and dark enough to confuse Harry as to whether it was black or really dark brown.

He was about as thin as harry was, though appeared to be a fair sight more toned. Even cooking a steak, he looked deadly.

Or maybe because Harry knew he was an assassin, he automatically saw deadly when he looked at him.

The freelancer's other eye was brown, which made a startling contrast between the two.

Dillan made his way to the table with a semi bleeding steak and a half full bottle of firewhiskey.

"Good to know you noticed I wasn't even a little bit kidding about the alcohol." Harry popped the top of the bottle and took a deep swig of the liquid, wincing as it burned.

He then took a bite of the steak to try and calm the fire as the assassin watched.

"So," Harry began, coughing from the whiskey.

"So what's this idea?" He tried again after he got his fit under control. The coughing had made the cut tingle with pleasure again, and Harry flushed and once again tried to get into a position where his erection wasn't a shining beacon to any one that glanced in that direction.

The freelancer had a smirk on his thin lips.

"I could heal that for you," He said, gesturing to Harry's still bleeding wound, not answering the question.

"No. Does this idea involve money?" Harry asked, brushing away the other mans suggestion, not really wanting the wound to be healed, despite is discomfort.

"Why not?" The assassin seemed to be taking Harry's lead and was ignoring his questions.

"Because if I go back home and tell them that you got away, without a mark on me, they would see that as suspicious. Now, back to what we're actually here to talk about."

"Them? How many are there? And you're just going to let me go?" He seemed amused, and Harry fought the urge to smack himself in the face.

"I already told you that I was, we've established this," The Boy Who Lived replied, carefully avoiding the assassin's other question.

Though he didn't give two shits about himself, he didn't want an assassin knowing anything more about the people he cared about.

"Besides, I don't even have my wand. I couldn't do anything against you if I tried."

"I'll have to go find that if I'm going to apparate home," He added as an afterthought.

He took a few more bites of the steak, and watched the assassin across from him. The man looked indecisive about something, before reaching into his vest pocket.

It was then that Harry noticed the buttons on the mans jacket. They were the same as the one Ron found.

"Have you ever killed a man named Aberforth Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

"Can't say that I have," He replied distractedly, still searching for something in his pockets.

Eventually he pulled Harry's wand free and slid it across the table toward the Chosen One.

"A token of good faith," He said, smiling.

Harry didn't pick the wand up straight away, instead focusing on the steak.

"So what was this idea?" Harry asked again, after eating all he could.

"How would you like to work for me?" Was his reply.

Harry had to say that he wasn't at all surprised by the question.

"Does it involve money?" He asked.

The assassin grinned.

"Of course,"

"Then yeah." Harry said, not giving himself time to regret the decision. He had to look after Ginny and his unborn child.

He didn't care what he had to do. Money was money.


	4. Don't trust you either

(_A/N I'm really powering through this. This is the fourth chapter in twenty four hours. Tell me what you think, cause I do love to hear from you ;) )_

When Harry told Dillan that he knew his name, and that he was the one who hired him, (he had decided to keep Ron out of it,) he didn't seem very surprised.

Nor was he surprised to hear that wouldn't be receiving payment.

The blue eyed man had given him a blood replenishing potion, as well as a potion to help the bleeding stop, and sent him on his way.

Later that night, when he had arrived home, he had ravished Ginny. After she had asked what the hell had happened to him, he had dismissed her questions and pinned her to the bed. He had never been the one to start anything sexual, and Ginny had been rather startled. But Harry was still feeling the effects of the wound, and desperately needed relief.

Afterward, Ginny had asked if everything was alright.

Harry had said nothing in return, simply staring at the far wall, wondering why his climax had brought with it the image of a golden knife.

Harry was woken the next day by Ginny gently nudging him.

The cut now felt like hell, and he would have preferred the previous effects it had had on him.

"You should let me heal that," She said when he opened his eyes.

"No, no magic." Harry grunted, sitting up.

He reached over the side of the bed and fished around inside the pocket of his hooded robe, pleased to find his potions were still intact. He removed the nourishment potion and took a small swig, handing the rest to Ginny.

"What happened last night, Harry?" She asked, and Harry wasn't sure which part she was asking about. The sex or the wound. He decided to answer for the latter.

"Ron and I have been trying to find an assassin. We think he might be the one who killed Aberforth."

"So what happened?"

Harry smirked despite himself.

"I found him."

"And, I mean he didn't try to, you know?" Ginny asked.

"What, kill me? He did try. But he ended up just apparating away. Not sure why. I'd imagine I'd fetch quite a price."

The red head blanched at this.

"I've got to go and see Ron. I came straight back here last night. He doesn't know what happened." Harry said, flinching as he stood.

The wound was still very much open, and when he got to his feet, he caused it to start bleeding again.

"At least let me clean that up for you,"

Harry grimaced at the idea of letting Ginny touch it, she had never been very gentle when it came to that kind of thing.

But in the end, he agreed. It needed to be done, and he didn't want to offend her by saying no.

half an hour later, he prepared to apparate to the Order Headquarters.

Ginny had cleaned his wound with ocean water, and it was still stinging profusely as he pushed the door open to Ron and Hermione's house.

The cut ran from his cheek right down to his hips, and it ached as he moved. His clothes rubbing on it didn't help at all.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed as Harry entered the sitting room.

"What happened? Did you get him?"

Harry shook his head, and Ron noticed the cut on his face.

"Wow, that looks nasty." Ron grimaced, and Harry smiled weakly.

"you think that's bad, you should see the rest of it."

The red head led Harry to the lounge, and all but shoved him into it.

"Hermione!" He shouted unexpectedly, making the dark haired wizard wince.

"Harry's back!"

"Is he okay?" Came the muffled reply, followed by a thumping sound that must have been Hermione rushing down the stairs.

The bushy haired young woman appeared at the door in no time flat, and threw her arms around Harry before he could object, making him release a sound not unlike a cat would if you kicked it.

"Oh! I'm sorry, did I hurt you? Oh my gosh, what happened to your face?"

Harry grimaced at the still very present pain.

"It's alright. Apparently assassin's aren't very nice."

_Unless, you don't want them to be nice. Then they end up cooking you a steak and offering you a job, _He added mentally.

"Show me," Hermione insisted, and he sighed and stood up, removing his outer coat and unbuttoning his shirt.

"Oh my god," Hermione whispered, just as Ron half shouted;

"Bloody hell, Harry!"

"Lay down," She ordered, and Harry did as he was told.

He knew that Hermione had a stronger magical reserve than Ginny, and he was sick of the pain regardless.

Besides, he had a reason to not let Ginny heal it. He didn't want her endangering herself or the child. And, he wouldn't have any such luck telling Hermione no.

The healing was so much more painful than receiving the wound was, and absolutely no where near as pleasurable.

Harry wondered about that. Why he had felt such euphoria from so much pain.

"Better?" She asked after a few moments.

"Yeah. Thanks." And it was. Only a numb ache remained. He looked down at his chest, and noticed a very faint silver line were the cut had been.

"The knife must have been really sharp. I was able to heal it really well."

Harry nodded.

"Yeah. It cut my shirt clean in half."

"So was it the same guy?" Ron asked, obviously eager to get back to planning Harry's revenge. Harry wasn't sure what it was that kept Ron so sure that justice would prevail.

It used to empower Harry, but it had started to really get on his nerves.

"I don't know. He really wasn't very talkative, and he wasn't wearing any gold buttons."

"What did he look like?" Ron asked, ignoring Harry's observation.

"It was hard to tell, he could do this thing where he literally turned into shadow. But I did see blonde hair."

"That's not very helpful," Ron looked like a child who'd been told santa wasn't real.

"Sorry for getting my ass kicked," Harry muttered, glancing at the cuckoo clock on the wall. It was already one in the afternoon. He had slept in, for the first time in years.

"How did you get away, anyway?" Ron asked, looking interested.

"I didn't. He just left. Thought I was done for." Harry told him, trying to inject some feeling into his voice and failing. Ron didn't notice.

"Don't worry, Harry we'll find him. We know his name and what he looks like."

Harry nodded, and glanced at Hermione, who was watching him carefully.

"Anyway, sorry to cut this short, but Ginny wanted me back as soon as I told you." Of course, he was lying.

He had told Dillan that he would meet him at two, at the cabin.

"Take care of yourself, Harry," Hermione said, still looking at him strangely.

"Yeah, take it easy, mate." Ron said, walking Harry to the door.

Once out of the wards, he disappeared with a _crack,_ appearing seconds later at the same cabin he had been the night before.

He watched as Dillan dragged the Death Eaters corpse out of the house.

"You're early," He called, not even looking at the Boy Who Lived.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, coming closer.

"I'd ask for a hand, but you look like you can barely lift yourself up." Dillan laughed at his own joke, and continued to drag the relatively large man toward a hole that had obviously been prepared earlier. Next to the grave was a shovel.

"You didn't use magic?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"No, I tend to bury them myself, if I can."

Harry's eyebrows knitted together in thought, but he made no further comment.

The smaller wizard followed along behind the assassin, and despite the dead mans obvious weight problem, the freelancer had the man in his grave in record time.

He began refilling the grave, without magical help.

"So what is it I'll be doing for you?" Harry asked, having forgotten that little detail the night before.

"Eventually, you'll be taking some of my jobs. But for now," The assassin paused, looking thoughtful.

"How are you at potions?" He asked finally, resuming his work.

"Bloody shit," Harry replied. The other man laughed.

Harry chose to ignore the fact that he would eventually be killing people for this man, and decided to focus on the present, instead.

"Bad teacher or bad student?" Dillan asked.

"Bit of both," Harry admitted.

"I'm sure I can fix that. Once I get you up to date on the potions I'll need, you can start with weapons. But that's after we put some meat on your bones."

Harry listened, aware that he was a sounding board for the plans the freelancer was making.

Eventually, Dillan led Harry inside the cabin, and on the table was another steak, this time with vegetables, and what looked to be a thick shake.

"Made that earlier," The assassin commented, and Harry sat down to eat, thanking the man, and asking if he could take some food back with him.

Dillan said that anything in the house he had free access to, and Harry grinned. Bringing back a proper meal would definitely make up for the bath Ginny had made him.

Harry took a sip of the thick shake and blanched, almost throwing up at the taste. Instead, he swallowed heavily and stared at the assassin with a questioning look.

"What the hell is that?" He asked, gesturing to the offending liquid.

"It's a secret. It'll make you fat in no time. Drink up!" Dillan said, grinning.

Harry glared and took another tentative sip, blanching when he realized it still tasted the same.

"Isn't there any way to improve this?" Harry asked, glaring disgustedly at the glass.

"No, anything you add just makes it worse. Trust me. You'll get used to it."

"I doubt that. And why would I want to get fat, anyway? Wouldn't that make it a bit hard to chase people?"

The assassin snorted loudly.

"You turn the fat into muscle. By exercising." He explained.

"Isn't there a spell that makes you all magically toned and shit?" Harry asked, and Dillan laughed.

"I hope it wouldn't make you shit. Anyway, drink it. You'll feel a whole lot better for it tomorrow."

Harry thought that he might feel worse for it, but forced down as much of it as he could.

After he was done, Dillan told him to meet him back at the cabin the next day, and from there he would apparate them both back to Dillan's home.

Apparently, he didn't trust Harry enough to tell him where it was, so he could simply apparate himself. It didn't really stop him from taking anyone to the house once he knew what it looked like, but he was sure there would be wards in place to defend against that.

Which was fair enough.

Harry didn't trust him either.


	5. Me, assassin You, civilian

_(A/N I have a few more ideas for this, but nothing to spectacular. Another fun fact, Dillan was going to merely be an extra and either die or never be seen again after chapter three. But now, he's decided that that plan sucks, and has made himself permanent. Go figure.)_

Harry had brought a veritable bounty home to Ginny.

Steak, vegetables, fruit, firewood, some oil and even a chocolate cake, which the pregnant woman had almost cried at the sight of.

She had eaten first, and asked how he got it afterward. He decided to be as truthful as he could be, given the circumstances.

"I went back to where I found the assassin. The guy he killed has a fair bit of food there."

Ginny had frowned in disdain, but said nothing more. Harry supposed that she was getting fed up with poverty, and didn't really care where the food came from.

He was still hardly about to tell her that he was an apprentice assassin.

He didn't think that she would find that quite as acceptable.

After filling herself to the point where she had thrown up, and then going back for seconds, the red head was fast asleep, even snoring slightly, which Harry took as a good sign that she was sleeping soundly.

He smiled at her sleeping form, feeling that, for the first time, things might not be as bad as he thought they were.

Harry lay down next to her, kissing her on the head when she rolled over and wrapped her arms and legs around him.

Apparently, a full stomach turned her into a kitten.

When Harry opened his eyes, he felt better than he had in a long time. He felt like he could actually run if he had to, which was saying something. His magic still felt weak inside of him, but this was definitely an improvement.

Ginny was in the small kitchen area, digging at the cake with a spoon, not bothering to actually cut herself a piece.

"Want some?" She was having a hard time getting words around the cake in her mouth.

"Yeah, might as well," Harry agreed, smiling.

Chocolate was something that he hadn't had in a long time.

And be damned if he wasn't going to get to it before she ate the lot.

The two of them almost finished the cake off, leaving behind a very small sliver.

Harry was fairly certain that it would be gone by the time he came back.

He wasn't sure what time it was, because there wasn't a clock in the cabin, and he still didn't trust himself quite enough to cast a tempus and check.

He was still feeling slightly affected from cutting the potatoes a few days ago with his magic.

He said his goodbyes to Ginny, and apparated to Ron and Hermione's. He planned on appeasing Ron in his plans to capture and imprison Dillan, and check the time while he was there.

He didn't want to be late for his first day on the job.

"G'morning," Ron greeted from the dining table.

"Want some?" Ron held up a plate of what appeared to be bread, and was about to refuse, when he decided that he did need to put more beef on if he was going to become an assassin.

While he picked up a piece of the stiff bread, the realization hit him full force.

He was going to become an assassin.

He sat down hard in the chair across from Ron, his mouth slightly open.

"Don't let Hermione see you with that face, she's really proud that she made this stuff." Ron gestured to the hard loaf on the table, obviously confusing Harry's shock for disgust.

The Boy Who Lived shook it off and took a bite of the bread, filing away those thoughts for later.

He didn't need Hermione picking up on his odd behavior. While Ron was oblivious, she was to perceptive for Harry's tastes.

On his way in, Harry had checked the clock, and realized that once again, he had slept in. he had three hours until he was to meet the assassin.

It was already two o'clock in the afternoon.

Harry wasn't sure what it was that was making him sleep better, but he was grateful for it. Feeling well rested went a long way to improve his mood.

He hadn't snapped at anyone in two days, which was a record.

"So I got a letter from the other one," Ron began, making a face as he bit into the bread.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, he said that he could start the contract in two weeks. He charges almost twice as much as the other one," Ron scoffed.

"Must be real up himself. I didn't even make any particular specifications. Imagine how much it would have cost if I did."

Hermione joined them, and smiled at Harry as she sat down. Harry smiled in return, and she looked taken aback for a moment before her grin widened.

"Do you like the bread, Harry?" She sounded extra chipper, as if she was trying to keep Harry's mood light.

"Yeah, it's good Hermione. I might get the recipe of you," Harry said, though of course he didn't want the recipe.

The bread rivaled Hagrid's rock cakes.

"I'm glad you like it." She seemed super proud of herself, and reached for a slice of her own.

Ron made a face at the Boy Who Lived, as if to say, 'you must be nuts.' Harry smiled and shrugged in return.

"So what are you going to do about the assassin? Are you going to go after him yourself? If he charges more than the one I went up against, then that would probably mean he's better. Or at least more sought after. Strahowski was difficult, imagine this one." Harry asked after a few moments of companionable silence.

"That's what I was worried about. But now that I have an opportunity to catch the guy, I cant really pass it up. He could be the one that got Aberforth." Ron shrugged, and Hermione watched him with concern.

"Why don't I come with you?" Harry said, making the decision on the spot. He wanted to make sure that Ron got home safe, and this assassin was less likely to be as merciful as Dillan.

"You sure, mate? It didn't go so well last time." It was Ron's turn to look worried, and Harry shrugged.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

When it was time for Harry to meet Dillan, he said his goodbyes, and apparated away from the couples home, feeling oddly excited to get started on becoming an assassin.

Not that he would ever admit that out loud.

The cabin came into view, and Harry entered, not bothering to knock.

Dillan sat in the same seat that the Death Eater had sat on when he died, reading the same book. It was an odd sight to see.

"You eat first, then we'll go." The man said, not looking up from the book.

"I just had some bread." Harry replied, eager to start.

"Pshh. Bread." The assassin snorted.

"Food's where it normally is. Stuff your face." Dillan continued, not waiting for Harry to comment.

The Boy Who Lived made his way into the dining room, still filled with puppy figurines that somehow reminded him of Umbridge.

On the table was a plate of chicken, covered in white sauce, mashed potato with some sort of herb spread through it, and assorted boiled vegetables. Next to it, of course, was the horrid thick shake thing.

He had to admit though, it had done its work the day before. He did feel pretty brilliant when he woke up that morning.

Making a split second decision, he brought the cup to his mouth, held his nose, and drained the glass as fast as humanly possible.

Laughter behind him made him drop the now empty glass, and he turned to glare at the assassin.

"Scare the crap out of me why don't you. I could have broke that glass. Or dropped it in my food." Harry grumbled, annoyed that he had been crept up on.

"Me, assassin. You, civilian." Dillan said, pointing at himself and then to Harry.

"It's just to easy to scare you." He laughed, then sat down across from the smaller wizard.

"So I take you felt better this morning?" He asked, gesturing to the empty glass laying sideways on the table.

"Yeah," Harry admitted reluctantly.

"How does it do that?" He asked, and the blue eyed man tapped his nose.

"It's a secret. Now hurry up and eat the food." He stood and began examining one of the statues, snorting incredulously.

"They remind me of someone I hate." Harry said, taking a bite of the chicken and noticing that the sauce was garlic and cheese based, and a moan of satisfaction fell out of his mouth. He hadn't eaten this good in years. And Dillan was a brilliant cook. He could get used to his.

"Who?" The assassin asked, ignoring Harry's near orgasm over the sauce.

"Umbridge. She was a bitch," Harry replied, trying the potatoes. The green herbs were chives.

"She was a professor at Hogwarts one year, wasn't she?" Dillan asked, picking up statues and snorting at each one.

"Yeah. Did you go to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, intrigued. He liked to think that he would remember the man, who could have only been a year or two older than his twenty three year old self.

"She preferred cats though, didn't she?" The freelancer asked, ignoring the question.

"Yeah. Kittens on plates." The smaller wizard replied, letting the unanswered question slide.

He had really doubted that the man would have divulged any details about his past, anyway.

Half an hour later, when Harry had filled himself to bursting, the two made their way out of the cabins wards, and Dillan apparated them with a near silent _pop._

_(A/N sorry guys, bit of a short filler chapter, but more is coming soon so don't worry.)_


	6. Golden coffee

The mansion that Dillan called home was ridiculous. The space it took up alone was impressive, let alone the gold plated columns standing sentry at the entrance.

The pair approached the colossal manor, Harry's eyes widening the closer he got.

"Just out of interest," Harry began, as the assassin pushed opened the front doors that were large enough to fit a double decker bus through.

"What would happen if I tried to bring someone not to your tastes back here?" Harry took in the entrance hall as he waited for his answer.

Just about everything that could be gold trimmed, was. The floors were tiled with alternating coffee and cream colors, looking like an oversized and faded chessboard. The walls were slightly darker than the coffee colored squares that littered the ground. Two staircases curved on each side of the room, and on the far wall was a fireplace. A rather large one at that.

In front of it was a plush brown rug that was better than his own bed in appearances of comfort. Three dark brown wooden benches surrounded the fire, with off white pillows and cushions scattered over them.

"I take it you drink coffee," Harry said after a moment of silence, running his hand along the gold trimmed banister of the nearest staircase.

He looked up and noted that there was a rather large golden chandelier.

_Classy, _Harry thought to himself. The assassin smirked at Harry's comment, but said nothing. He gestured for Harry to sit, and the Boy Who Lived made his way to the fireplace. He took a moment to decide between the chairs or the floor, and decided on the rug.

Harry watched Dillan, and noted that there was a bar tucked away under the staircase to his left. The freelancer was pouring them both a drink.

"To answer your question," Dillan said, passing Harry a drink and sitting down on the bench in front of him.

"The only way into this place is to side along apparate with me. Anyone who does try to get in here, or even walk through the wards without me present, will get a rather nasty surprise."

Harry made no comment, and took a sip of the liquid, glad to drink something that wasn't similar to a thick shake.

"What is this?" The younger wizard asked after a moment, watching with envy as the assassin lit the fire with barely a twitch of his wand.

"It's called a Black Dahlia. Good, aren't they?"

Harry nodded, and Dillan put his feet up on one end of the couch, reclining.

"I was wondering about something, Harry." Dillan said, staring up at the chandelier, not looking at his apprentice.

"Was choosing to hire me a coincidence, or was there another reason?" He turned his head and smirked at Harry, a glint in his eye that said he was sure that it wasn't random.

"A friend of mine was killed in the same manner as the witch you killed recently." Harry said, watching carefully for any sign of anger and taking another sip of his blackberry flavored alcohol.

"Which one?"

"Mary something." Harry replied, the glass still close to his lips.

"Mary-Anne. Which friend was this? Wait, let me guess, the one you asked me about the night we met?"

The smaller wizard nodded.

"So how is it you figured it was me who killed that witch?"

"You left a button behind. With your initials on it," Harry said, finishing off his drink.

Dillan sat up suddenly, startling the younger wizard.

"That explains a great deal." Dillan said, staring at Harry intently.

"So I've heard along the grapevine that someone has been hired. Someone with the same initials as me. In the very same wording that was used to hire myself. You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, would you?"

Harry shook his head, wishing that he hadn't finished his drink so quickly. He wanted something to hide his face, so his lying wasn't quite so obvious.

"Your name was the only one I found with the same initials as the button." He really didn't want Ron involved in this anymore, and if he could, he would tell the red head to drop the plan to find the other assassin. But Ron would never give up the fight, no matter how many times Harry tried to convince him otherwise.

"Hmm. Well, we have things to do, and we're wasting time. If what you say is true, we'll need all the time we can get if we're going to turn you into a potions prodigy."

Harry followed Dillan through a door that he had previously not noticed, down into a basement type area.

"I half expected you to have a dungeon." Harry noted as Dillan led him to a small corner of the overly large underground area.

A well stocked potions lab greeted them.

"I strike you as someone who keeps prisoners, do I?" Dillan smirked over his shoulder.

Harry thought about it and realized that no, an assassin wouldn't keep prisoners.

"On second thought, not really."

Dillan laughed and took a small bottle of the shelf beside him.

"You're going to be learning how to make this little beauty. It's my absolute favorite. Try it," The assassin said, tossing Harry the bottle. He barely caught it.

"What does it do?" Harry asked, curious.

"Drink it and find out." Dillan smirked at Harry's uncertainty, and the Boy Who Lived decided that what the hell, why not. It was unlikely that the freelancer was trying to kill him. He'd already had an opportunity to do so, and hadn't done it.

He uncorked the bottle and drank it fast, before he had the chance to taste it.

Nothing happened.

"I don't feel anything." Just as Harry said this, he was plunged into total darkness.

"What the-" As he spoke, a high pitch squeak came out of what he thought was his mouth, but he wasn't sure.

The noise bounced off the stone walls of the basement, and when the noise came back to Harry, with it came a complete picture of the room. There was no color, only a quick black and white image that seemed to burn itself into his skull. He could even see, or feel, behind himself. Which he imagined came in very handy.

"Amazing, right?" The freelancer whispered when it was dark again.

"Yeah." When Harry spoke this time, no sudden burst of sound came back at him.

"The only problem with it is that you cannot constantly see your opponent." The voice came from right behind the smaller wizard, and he jumped, accidentally sending out another burst of sound.

The image of Dillan standing directly behind him flashed in his head, and he took a step forward.

"Which is why it's best to send out constant sonic bursts. There are a few downsides, but it's rather useful."

"I'm not even sure how to make the noises, they're sort of just happening. What are the downsides?" Harry asked, turning to face the assassin, though he couldn't see anything.

"For one, it becomes useless if your target can see you. If they have their wand, a simple lumos puts you out in the open. Another is that the constant bursts of sound make it hard to hear. Though seeing your entire surroundings, more than makes up for that." Dillan explained.

"Wouldn't the high pitched squeals kind of give away your position?" Harry asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable in the dark and willing another squeak to come on.

"They're well and truly above the capability of human hearing. Only someone else who has the potion in their system can hear them. Which is both a pro and a con. You'll hear theirs, but they'll hear yours too."

Harry swore that he felt breath on his face a second later, and a burst of sound came out of his mouth in response.

Dillan was still standing in the same position he was the last time Harry had 'seen' him.

"Can you hear it?" Harry asked, deciding that his mind must be playing tricks on him in the darkness.

"Yes. I never go a moment without it in my system."

"How long does it last?" The younger man asked.

"Roughly twenty four hours, depending on the strength of the brew."

Harry realized something then.

"Were you using this potion the night we met?" A burst of sound met his ears that didn't come from him , and Harry's own burst of sound seemed to reply to it, with no prompting of his own. Dillan had his arms crossed now, and Harry swore he was slightly closer than he had been before.

"Of course I was." Was the reply.

"So you knew I was in the tree." Harry deadpanned.

The assassin laughed.

"You were rather easy to spot. I was going to just pull you out of the tree and drive my knife into your gut, but I thought I'd let you watch the show first."

Harry's thoughts went back to the night, and most specifically the knife that Dillan had mentioned. A blush crept onto his cheeks and he was glad that the strange sight that the potion granted didn't show color, especially when another burst of sound hit his ears.

Another squeak came from Harry, and the assassin was smirking now.

"That seems to be helping you figure it out." Dillan said.

"What does?" Harry asked, confused.

"My sonic bursts. Yours reply. Which is odd, but right now, it's helpful. If you ever come up against someone who's using it, you might want to refrain, though." Dillan let out another squeak, and again, Harry's responded.

He was definitely standing closer now, there was no denying it. Feeling rather uncomfortable, Harry finally asked;

"So how do you make it?"

A whispery chuckle was his response, and the lights came back on. Dillan was standing a few feet back, and Harry wondering if either the potion was faulty, or he had an overactive imagination.

"The main ingredient is bats wings, though I'm sure that you figured that out." The freelancer said, leading Harry once again to the small potions area.

"Err, not to sound stupid, or anything, but why?" Harry blushed again, slightly annoyed now that the light was back on.

"Because this potion creates a form of echolocation," Dillan said, staring at the younger man with incredulity.

"Oh. Right. I knew that. Carry on."

A small smile graced the assassin's face.

"Write all of this down." Dillan said, still smiling.

"We wouldn't want you to forget."

Dillan Strahowski stood in his office, studying two separate pieces of paper.

One of the pieces was Harry's earlier potions notes. The man who had written them had left hours before, and the freelancer stood alone.

The other was the letter he had received, hiring him for the assassination of the Death Eater he had killed the night he had met Harry Potter.

The hand writing was most definitely not a match. A small laugh escaped the assassin's lips.

"You're going to need to be a hell of a lot better at lying if you're going to be an assassin,"

The freelancer took a seat at his desk, his fingers automatically tracing the edge of the golden blade he kept with him at all times, a small hiss of pleasure escaping his lips as it cut his fingers.

"Who are you hiding?" He asked no one.

He put his finger tips into his mouth in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

He sat back in the brown leather chair, grinning. He removed his fingers but did not heal them, far to pleased with the burn they left in his gut.

"I do love a good mystery."


	7. Not your leg

_(A/N chapter seven! Wooo. This story is fast becoming my little baby, even though it's not going the way I planned it. It's got it's own ideas. And I happen to love those ideas :D)_

"Hey, George, what do you reckon this is?" Fred asked, placing a piece of parchment in front of his brother.

"Looks like an invitation," George replied as he read the paper, looking at his twin in a way that said, 'how could you not work that out? It says 'you are invited' at the top.'

"That's what I thought." Fred proclaimed proudly.

"So?" George pressed, wondering what was so important about this particular invitation.

"Keep reading," His brother said, a grin on his face.

"You are cordially invited, blah blah, you are welcome to bring a plus one, blah blah, wait, what?" George paused in his rather loud recital, wondering if he'd read right.

"Assassin's Gala," Fred finished for him, looking quite pleased.

"We should take this to Ron. He's had a particular interest in freelancers lately." George said, standing.

"Precisely my thought's, brother."

The twins left the ministry and apparated to number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"I don't know, Ron. This just seems like a bad idea," Hermione said, trying to talk sense into her husband.

"Think about it! If we went and posed as contractors, we could get the names of every single assassin not on that list! Their faces, too."

"Ron's right, Herms. This is a pretty big opportunity. It doesn't even have a name on the invitation. So you don't have to imitate anyone, just change your appearance a little bit. All it says is to hold the invitation with one hand and your plus one with the other as you enter the wards."

Hermione frowned at Fred's words, but thrust her arm out, asking for the invitation. She read it quickly and glanced at Ron.

"It says that the invitation is a portkey that will activate on the night," She said, still not convinced that it was a good idea, but not letting him go by himself.

"Why cant you two go?" She asked the twins.

"Can't." They said in unison.

"Being the ministries little bitch doesn't allow for much spare time," George said.

"We're working." Fred clarified.

"Do you think I should tell Harry?" Ron asked his wife.

"No, I think he has enough on his plate." She replied.

"So you guys are going then?" Fred asked.

"Because we can help you disguise yourselves." His twin added.

"Yeah, I guess we are," Hermione said, still looking at her husband with concern.

"When is it?" Ron asked, having not read it.

"Three days,"

"Any plans in three days time?" Dillan Strahowski asked a rather busy Harry Potter.

"Oh, yeah, I'm hosting a ball at my place. It's going to be hectic. Food enough to fill an army and wine enough to kill one. And a live string quartet. You should come, it'll be amazing." Harry smirked sarcastically as he shredded the bats wings and placed them in a bubbling cauldron cautiously.

"Of course I don't have plans." He said when the potion didn't explode in his face.

"Why?" He asked, turning to his mentor.

"I'm having a ball at my place, it's going to be hectic." Dillan said, crossing his arms and smiling down at the smaller wizard.

"Seriously? Or are you pulling my leg?"

The assassin muttered something under his breath, still grinning.

"What?" Harry asked, wondering if he had heard right.

"I'm not pulling your leg. But it's less of a ball and more of a mass meeting. With alcohol."

"For who?" Harry asked warily.

"Assassins and their most generous contractors." Dillan said, a smirk still on his lips.

"By 'generous contractors', I assume you mean the people who want the most people dead," Harry stated, feeling rather uncomfortable about what he thought he had heard. Surely he had heard wrong.

"Hmm. Same shit, different smell. But I think it would be a rather good opportunity to introduce you to some contractors. It will be helpful to you in the future, if you decide to take your own. Besides, I'd rather like to flaunt the fact that I've finally chosen an apprentice." The assassin said, gesturing to the cauldron that was now bubbling over.

"Shit," Harry swore, stirring it three times clock wise with a ritual knife.

"What do you mean, finally?" He asked when he got the potion under control.

"I've had a few families offer their sons and daughters to me as apprentices. I refuse."

Harry's eyebrows rose in questioning.

"Why do you refuse? I'm sure that they're much more capable than me." He asked, watching the potion more carefully now.

"That's why I didn't want them, to be honest. Training someone who's already been trained can be a complicated thing."

Harry nodded, satisfied with the answer, though not fully understanding it.

"So how are you holding the ball here? I thought the wards were rather strict on who's let in. unless you're going to pick each of them up individually."

The assassin snorted and grabbed Harry's hand to adjust exactly how much monkshood he'd been about to add to the potion.

"I'll be adjusting the wards for the night." He said, his hand still on Harry's.

The younger wizard's stomach did a flip and he yanked his hand back.

"So you'll be coming, then?' Dillan asked, ignoring Harry's jerky reaction.

"One question first," The Boy Who Lived asked.

"Will there be a certain Dark Lord in attendance? I know he's a rather big asset to the assassin community."

Dillan watched Harry stir the contents of the cauldron for a moment before answering.

"No. you aren't wrong though. You can bet your ass that most contracts come from him, or his orders. You don't need to worry. He never comes to the Gala."

"I thought that assassin's never met with their contractors. Let alone drank with them." Harry said.

"It's not a common thing. And only a few contractors are invited. The crème de la crème, you could say."

Harry nodded.

"Well I supose I'll be here then. Anything else I should know?"

"There are a few things. Like your clothes, for instance. No self respecting assassin would dress the way you do. Come with me, the potion needs to sit, any way."

As Harry followed his mentor up the stairs, his cheeks went red with the thought of what the assassin had mumbled. Or what he thought the man had mumbled.

'_I'll pull something, but it's not your leg,'_

"Do we have any idea who's throwing this party?" Ron asked, watching Hermione transfigure scraps of fabric into dress robes.

"The invitation doesn't say." Hermione answered distractedly, her brow prickling with sweat.

"That's weird, don't you think?" Ron prodded, clearly not satisfied.

"Not really. I'd imagine everyone going knows who's throwing the party." She answered, slightly exasperated.

"What if it's You-Know-Who?" Ron proclaimed suddenly, horror in his voice.

"I very highly doubt that, Ronald. Assassin's are just more weapons to him. I don't think he would throw them a party."

"Yeah, but what if?" Ron pressed.

"If you don't want to go then why am I wasting my magic doing this?" She snapped, sweat now dripping from her forehead.

"Whoa, sorry." Ron put his hands up and backed out of the bedroom.

"Don't go up there," He said to the twin's when he reached the sitting room.

"She's lost it." He continued, sitting down.

Harry stood in front of a full length mirror, eying himself warily. Dillan stood behind him, his hand on his chin, looking thoughtful.

"Full body armor? Really? I look like a lizard." Harry said, and he wasn't wrong. The armor he was wearing was dragon skin, and was very tight fitting. He felt like he was naked.

"Obviously, there'll be dress robes over the top. Honestly," Dillan said, laughing at the younger wizards obvious discomfort.

"Do you wear this stuff all the time?" Harry asked, trying to turn his upper half and failing.

"Wouldn't be without it. I would recommend you start wearing it all the time, but I imagine that your girlfriend would think it strange that you're suddenly wearing a body suit that costs a fortune."

"I don't doubt that," Harry replied, reaching his arms above his head and grimacing at the resistance.

"How do you even move!" Harry exclaimed, annoyed.

"With practice." Dillan laughed.

"I'll find you some robes." the older man wandered into the walk in closet, and Harry took a moment to look around the room in the assassin's absence. He didn't want to look nosy, after all.

The room was obviously the freelancer's own room, since all of the mans clothes were in the closet. On one wall, a weapons rack displayed an impressive array of knifes and swords and even an ornate pair of hatchets. Gold, of course.

The four poster bed was dark wood, and looked like it weighed about a ton. The bed spread was cream colored, with dark brown sheets to accompany it. The carpets were stark white, which was a change from the norm. three of the walls sported the same color, but the one behind the bed was a chocolate brown.

Two matching dark wood bedside tables sat on either side of the four poster, and beside those, the mirror and the bed, the room was empty.

Dillan reentered the room, and thrust three sets of dress robes into his apprentice's arms.

"Take your pick," He said, crossing his arms and looking interested.

Harry hung them on a hook beside the mirror, and scanned them, trying to decide which he liked best, though they were all very similar.

"All of them have your initials on the buttons." Harry frowned at the assassin in disdain.

The man scoffed and waved a hand in dismissal.

"I can fix that," He said, grinning.

"Okay, then these ones," Harry removed the only set with silver buttons from the hook.

"Good choice," Dillan said in a way that made Harry wonder if it had been a test.

"Put them on and I'll make the adjustments." He told the younger man, and Harry tried his hardest to get the robes over his head, making getting dressed look like the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

"My god." Dillan said, humor in his voice. He allowed his young apprentice to struggle for a moment more, before moving forward and yanking the robes sharply down over his head.

Harry was flushed and out of breath, but he was dressed.

He turned to look at himself in the mirror, and grinned. The robes hadn't even been adjusted to fit him, and they already looked amazing.

He had chosen a black set that reached ankles, flaring outwards at his hips, only slightly. He imagined that the middle would be a tight fit, once it was adjusted. Two rows of silver buttons ran from his neck to his hips.

A split ran up the front of the robes, and the back, allowing for him to run, if need be, but it also displayed the dragon skin.

"You'll need pants, you don't want to display that you're wearing armor. They usually take that as a sign you're looking for a fight. But other than that," Dillan paused, appraising Harry's outfit.

"Brilliant." Harry finished for him, smiling at his reflection.

"My thought's exactly. Now come here and let me adjust it." The assassin drew his wand, and Harry noted that the wood was very similar in color to the wood that made up the bed.

"Even your wand is color coordinated." He said, and the assassin glanced over at the bed, obviously catching Harry's drift.

"Same wood," Dillan told him, smiling.

Once the robes were a proper fit, Harry glanced at himself in the mirror once more.

"You ever considered a career as a tailor?" He joked, impressed by the outcome.

"That was my first choice. Didn't pay as well." The freelancer grinned at his work.

"So what are you gonna do about the fact that I'm Harry Potter?"

"If you could choose any other name, what would it be?" Dillan answered with a question.

Harry thought for a moment, and came up with nothing. He'd never considered calling himself by any other name.

"I don't know," He said eventually.

"How about Seth?" The assassin suggested. Harry didn't see a problem with it, and agreed.

"Last name?" Harry asked, leaving it to his mentor to come up with something.

"Dallas?"

Harry nodded, not really caring, either way.

His mentor once again removed his wand and changed each of the silver buttons to display S.D.

One singular button was left with the assassin's initials, and Dillan said it should stay That way. Harry didn't bother to dispute it.

"What about my face?" Harry asked when the buttons were complete.

"We'll change that on the night. But for now, I believe you have a potion to tend to."


	8. Red carpet grave

_(A/N: ahhhhh, scene breaks why you be stupid!? There used to be lines. Now they are gone and I have to go back and fix it. OMG FML! On another note, I'm listening to 1985 by bowling for soup and rocking out : ) didn't even know I had this song. Also, sorry if you find any random out of place letters or numbers. My little one loves the keyboard and she tends to mash the keys when I'm not watching. Ehh.) _

"Where do you keep going, Harry? I'm sure that Ron doesn't need this much help." Ginny asked, leaning against the wall, watching him cook two rather large steaks and vegetables.

"And all this food, where is it coming from? I'm sure that that dead guys food has run out by now," The red head eyed Harry suspiciously, and he bristled uncomfortably.

It was almost time for him to leave, the Gala was that night. And he wondered if he would even be able to get away.

"He was pretty well stocked up. He was bloody fat." Harry mumbled, turning a steak.

She hmmed, not sounding convinced.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked, trying to redirect the conversation. The youngest Weasley had been experiencing a fair bit of morning sickness, which Hermione said was a good sign that the pregnancy was strong.

Or something.

Harry had no idea.

"Like death warmed up," Ginny told him, easily distracted.

"Can you eat?" He asked, removing both the slabs of meat from the pan.

"I don't know," She replied, looking at the steak as if it still had a head.

"You need to," Harry had a stern tone, mostly because she had eaten hardly anything in the last week, and what she did she threw up.

She looked thinner now than she had before Harry had started bringing back more food.

Harry glanced out of the grime covered window and saw that night was falling, and he swore that it was midday only minutes ago.

He removed the vegetables and served Ginny a plate, digging into his own rather quickly, he didn't have much time before he had to leave.

Ginny watched her plate warily, looking up at Harry every now and then.

"I'll have this later," She said eventually, crossing the room and putting her plate in the storage cupboard.

"Ginny," Harry warned.

"I promise, I'll eat it when I can."

Harry frowned.

"When I get back, that plate better be empty," he said, turning to face her, sticking the bone from the steak in his mouth in hopes of hiding the lie he was about to tell.

"When you get back?" She asked, crossing her arms and squinting her eyes at him.

"Yeah, I have to go to Ron and Hermione's, assassin stuff again," he told her, the bone muffling his speech.

"Would it kill you to bloody stay here for more than ten minutes at a time? We have food, and the freaking assassins can wait." She tightened her arms and frowned harder, as if it would convince him.

Harry removed the bone and frowned right back.

"I really have to go, Gin. If it were any other time I would stay." He wasn't lying when he said this. He really did need to go. And soon.

"What's so important?" She asked, a challenge in her tone.

"I'm doing this for you Ginny. You and the baby." He avoided the question, not knowing how exactly to answer that. He was never good at making lies up on the spot.

"Well stay here for me! That's all I want!"

Harry shook his head and dumped the plate on the bench.

"I cant. Not this time."

"Fine! Get out then!" She snapped, stomping into the next room and slamming the door behind her.

The effect was slightly marred by the fact that she had gone into the bathroom, but there was no where else to stomp into. Harry nearly laughed, but held it in. He hardly wanted to piss her off further.

He sighed instead and made his way out the door, turning on the spot and appearing out the front of the cabin that had now become a regular meeting place for the assassin and his apprentice.

Dillan was standing outside the small home, with one of the horrid thick shakes in his hand.

"You're late. No time to eat, drink this. Quick."

"I know. She's getting really suspicious," Harry said, taking the glass and holding his nose.

"I ate any way," he said when he finished.

"Suspicious how?" Dillan asked, following Harry into the cabin.

The smaller wizard put his glass on the sink and turned to face the assassin, noticing for the first time that the man was already in his dress robes. He had chosen robes that almost exactly matched Harry's own choice, only the buttons were of course gold.

He had two blades strapped under the robes, and they were obviously poking through the fabric.

"She keeps asking about the food and where I keep going."

"Hmm. You'll have to figure out something soon. A suspicious woman makes a great detective."

"Yeah, tell me about it. She said that the food must have run out by now. I told her that the dead guy was fat."

Ginny wasn't wrong in her assumption that the Death Eater had run out of food. Dillan had been giving him some, since the Death Eaters stash had run out completely about two days earlier. He couldn't keep telling Ginny that it had come from the dead man.

She wouldn't believe it for to much longer.

"C'mon, we have to go. We have two hours to get you ready."

Harry didn't know what the time was, or even what time the Gala started, but he did think that he had had more time to get ready. Just getting into that damn armour took near an hour.

Dillan had offered to help the first time, but Harry had refused heartily. There was no way he was letting the assassin any where near his naked self. Definitely not after the _I'll pull something _comment.

Dillan had laughed himself stupid at the sound of the young wizard's struggle, and Harry could hear him choking on his laughter from the other side of the door.

Which made it much harder to focus on what he was doing. He just hoped that this time he could figure it out faster.

He also hoped he didn't look like he had something jammed up his ass as he walked.

He and Dillan made their way out of the cabin, and the taller wizard grabbed Harry's arm and apparated them to the assassin's mansion.

* * *

"How do they look?" Hermione asked, twirling her robes as she turned.

Despite herself, she was excited to wear her new clothes. They were as beautiful as she could make them, considering her small amount of magic, and what she had had to work with.

She had made herself a turquoise set of robes, with small buttons studded with blue gems. They weren't real gems, of course. They were made with lumps of melted down plastic. She just hoped that no one looked to closely.

For Ron she had made a black set of dress robes, with buttons that matched hers. She had no idea what assassins wore to a party, nor what their contractors wore, and she hoped that they wouldn't stand out to much.

"You look beautiful." Ron told her, grinning.

"You should get ready. We only have an hour and a half. And we still have to change our appearance's. Did Fred and George say when they were arriving?" Hermione asked, half shooing Ron away and half waiting for him to answer her question.

"Dunno, they said they'd come when they got a break, which could be any time now." Ron shrugged, and his wife finally shooed him away completely.

* * *

"Well at least it didn't take you as long to get the armour on." Dillan said, once again yanking Harry's dress robes over his head. They stood in the assassin's bedroom.

"Right, now for your face. We need to get rid of these glasses. They're a dead give away." Dillan pulled them off without another word, and Harry took a step back.

"I cant not wear them. I'm bloody near blind." He put his arms out in front of himself as if to prove his point.

"Relax, I can temporarily fix them."

A piece of wood that looked suspiciously like a wand was shoved into the smaller wizards face, and he took another step backwards.

A jet of light hit him square in the eyes and fell on his ass from the shock. He didn't have even a second of warning, because the assassin had used wordless magic.

"Ahh! Fuck that burns, what the hell did you do?" Harry had the palms of his hands pressed into his eyes, grimacing at the pain.

"Open your eyes and see for yourself."

Harry did as he was told, and even though his eyes were watering madly, he could see better than he ever had with the glasses.

"Wicked," Harry stumbled to his feet and grinned at his mentor.

"It will last about four hours. But I'm going to look into a more permanent fix. We cant have you running around assassinating people with glasses on. It's a pretty obvious weakness." Dillan said, his wand still in his hand.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, now staring at his hands in wonder.

"If you're dumb enough to be spotted by the target, then all they would need to do to get the upper hand is get your glasses off. Then you'd be as graceful and as accurate as a rock in a fight." Dillan explained, watching the Boy Who Lived with a smirk on his face.

"Oh, I didn't think of that," Harry looked up from his hands and grinned.

"Well, hopefully fixing your eyes will be for nothing, and you wont be seen."

Harry nodded, though he wasn't feeling very confident in his abilities. It would take a bloody long time for him to be good enough to go out on his own. Even with magic.

"They still sting," Harry said instead of voicing his concerns.

"Give it a few minutes and they should be fine. I'm going to change your hair color. I was thinking blond."

"How blond?" Harry asked, wary.

"Not Malfoy blond, if that's what you're worried about," Dillan smirked.

"You know the Malfoy's?" Harry asked.

"I know you don't like them," Dillan said, avoiding the question.

"How do you know that?" Again, the smaller wizard tried to pry information out of the assassin.

"You went to school with one. His father is a Death Eater, and his son was a Slytherin. Not really tough logic."

Harry frowned but made no further comment.

"Now, I'm thinking a sandy blond. A few shades darker than Malfoy. And we'll make your eyes a few shades lighter."

"Why lighter?"

Dillan shrugged.

"People seem to hire assassin's more often if they have strange eyes. I really don't know why."

"So did you magically change your eye, or is it from something else?" Harry asked, still wondering whether the man was blind in one eye.

"Something else," Dillan said, crossing his arms and appearing cagey, though Harry thought he saw humor in the mans eyes.

"Are you blind in that eye?" The younger man asked, all but blurting it.

The assassin snorted a small laugh but didn't reply.

"Ready? We really don't have a lot of time left."

"Alright, alright. Is this one gonna sting my eyes as well?" Harry asked, not a fan of having his eyes assaulted again, especially since they were still tender from the last attack.

"Most likely not,"

"I don't like how you said that,"

Dillan ignored Harry's comment and raised his wand once more, and another not quite as blinding jet of light hit him in the eyes.

It did sting, but no where near as badly as the first time, and he was able to rid himself of the pain after a few blinks.

"Now your hair. I'm absolutely certain that this wont hurt," The assassin smirked as he said this, and Harry gave him a dirty look.

"I really don't want to have to do this all the time." Harry whined.

Dillan smirked.

"I'm sure it will become more regular." Dillan said, twirling his wand over Harry's head as if trying to make a halo.

"There," The assassin said after a moment.

"You're right, it didn't hurt." Harry said, turning to the mirror.

His face was still the same shape, and Harry wondered whether or not they should change it. Because, after all, his face was rather famous, and there was likely not a single person in the entire wizarding world who hadn't seen it.

His eyes were now a startling green, almost blending with the whites.

His hair was a fair few shades darker than the Malfoy's, but that really wasn't hard, considering how light their hair was.

It looked like wet sand, and Harry wasn't sure whether he liked it or not. But honestly he didn't really care.

It was a disguise, and it worked.

"What about my face? It's pretty well known."

"Hmm, I'd change your mouth, but you might have trouble speaking with a different one. I could change your eye shape, but again, that might hurt. I could narrow your cheeks?"

Harry shrugged and nodded.

* * *

"We're going to turn your faces into putty." Fred said matter-of-factually.

"Huh?" Was Ron's articulate reply.

"It's a spell we came up with in school. Makes your face all mouldable. Like putty," George explained.

"I don't know about this," Hermione said, wary.

"Relax, it doesn't even hurt. We've used it loads of times."

Hermione wasn't convinced, but her husband was all for it.

"Wicked, lets do this." Ron said.

"We thought you'd never ask," Fred grinned.

* * *

"Ready? Some people have already arrived." Dillan told his apprentice, and Harry felt himself go green in the face.

Everyone who was down in the foyer was going to be able to tell, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was completely untrained.

"You should take a weapon first, actually. Just in case."

Harry's face got even greener.

"I don't know how to use any of those damn things," he said, gesturing to the wall covered in assorted sharp objects.

"Doesn't matter. As long as you have it on you they'll assume you're trained in combat. Go ahead, pick one."

Harry sighed and crossed the space between him and the weapons.

He scanned the wall, and had no idea which one he wanted.

"These weapons are a lot like wands, they have their own personality. Don't worry about choosing which one you like the look of. It will likely just chose you. Pick one up,"

Harry went through most of the knifes and found that he didn't like any of them.

Finally, the one that did fit, or the two, rather, was the pair of gold hatchets that had caught his eye days earlier. They had strange black blade edges, that looked almost like stone.

"Nice choice. Be careful with them though. See the edges? That's obsidian. Sharpest substance known to man."

Harry went to touch it to be sure, and Dillan actually hissed at him.

"I really wouldn't recommend that."

"That sharp, huh?" Harry asked, slightly white in the face at having chosen such sharp blades.

"That sharp. You'll probably want the covers for them. Don't want you cutting your leg off." The assassin walked out of the room without another word, leaving Harry standing there awkwardly, holding the small pair of axes.

A few moments later, Dillan reentered and snatched the hatchets from Harry's hands and strapped an identical pair of what looked like leather skin covers on them.

"Wouldn't they just cut through that?" Harry asked, looking at the blades warily as Dillan passed them back.

"Basilisk skin. Not likely," The assassin grinned, gesturing for Harry to strap them on.

"Uhh, where?"

Dillan sniggered and covered his mouth with his hand.

"All my pants have weapon straps. Did you think I just carried them around with my hands?" The assassin came towards Harry and knelt in front of him, lifting the edge of his robes, then held out his hand for one of the hatchets.

Harry was blushing profusely, and made a promise to himself that he would work out how to strap them on himself.

Once both blades were strapped on, and Harry was blushing so hard he thought his face might explode. Dillan stood and shooed Harry out of the door.

"I've heard of fashionably late, but this is ridiculous," The assassin muttered.

* * *

"Ready?" Ron asked his wife, and she rubbed her arms furiously, worry all over her face.

"As I'll ever be," She replied.

"The portkey is about to go off. We should head outside." Hermione added.

The twins had left only moments before, having given Hermione black straight hair and a rather prominent chin. Ron got brown hair and small beady eyes.

Between the two of them they looked rather ugly, but it worked, they looked nothing like themselves.

"Harry, honestly, Hurry up," Dillan hissed, ready to drag his apprentice down the stairs by his earlobes.

"All in all, I think this was a rather stupid idea." Harry hissed back. From where he stood, he could see the gathered assassin's and their contractors, and there was a fair sight more there than he had been expecting.

Almost two hundred completely lethal looking people stood milling around in the entrance hall, which had been totally refurbished. There were no seats, and another two bars had been added. The chandelier was lit, making creepy shadows all over the place.

"C'mon. And don't show how nervous you are, for the love of Merlin." The assassin pulled Harry a little further towards the stairs, and Harry took a deep breath in, trying to appear uncaring.

He probably looked constipated.

* * *

"Look," Ron said, elbowing Hermione in the arm and pointing up the stairs.

"Must be the host." She replied, looking away and scanning the room.

"The buttons," Her husband persisted.

Hermione tried to get a good look at said buttons, but from her vantage point she couldn't make much out, just that his buttons were gold.

"Harry said that the guy had blond hair. That's not him." She said, once again looking around.

"What about the guy with him? He's blond."

The previously bushy haired witch sighed and looked back over at the two people descending the stairs.

The blond man looked completely mortified, acting as if he wanted to hide behind the other man. His buttons were obviously silver.

"I don't think that's him either." She said, sipping carefully on the wine she held in her hand.

"What if it was him, and he was just doing the job for Strahowski?" Ron asked, more forceful with his idea now.

"Did you say Strahowski?" Someone asked from behind the two, and Ron nearly jumped out of his skin. Hermione recovered quickly.

"Yes, we were looking for him. Do you know where we can find him?" she asked, trying for a pleasant tone.

"You were just looking at the pansy. Up there, on the stairs. I'm guessing you two are contractors then," The man asked, sculling half his drink.

The man was most probably an assassin, judging by how there was a sword strapped to his hip.

Hermione nodded in response.

"Who do you contract with?" The man's black hair was tied at the nape of his neck, and his eyes were dark enough brown to appear black.

"Strahowski," Ron answered before Hermione could.

"Ahh, so that's why you were looking for him. Fuck up, did he? Wouldn't surprise me. He's the one with the black hair. Dunno who that blond one was. Probably his fuck toy. Always thought he was that way."

Hermione looked back up at the stairs, curious about why Harry had said the man was blond. Either Harry had lied, the man had changed his hair, or the blond one that entered with Strahowski had been the one to nearly kill her best friend.

"Has Strahowski ever been blond?" She asked.

"Nope. He keeps it the same." The assassin walked off into the crowd then, clearly bored with the conversation.

"Must have been that blond one then. Lets find out who he is," Ron said, starting in the direction of the stairs that the assassin's had come down.

"We can't just go up to him and say, 'Hello, who are you?' Because he'd probably say, 'who are you?'" Hermione warned, holding her husband's arm to stop him from going any further.

"What do you reckon we should do then?" Ron asked, looking annoyed that his plan had been ruined.

"I don't know. Maybe get close to them and try to listen in?" She suggested.

* * *

"Strahowski," A rather fat balding man said, shaking Dillan's hand.

Harry stood beside him, trying to look as if he was completely at ease.

Dillan made the fat man flinch with his grip. The fat man rubbed his hand when Dillan let go.

"Were you happy with the job?" Harry's mentor asked, obviously distracted and slightly annoyed to be talking to this man.

"Yes, it was fantastic, as always. You have a flair for the dramatic." Marcus said, rubbing his protruding stomach and laughing jovially.

"It's what you asked for," Dillan replied, looking increasingly embarrassed and looking everywhere but the fat man, even looking to Harry once as if asking for help, but there was nothing Harry could do about it.

"Yes, yes of course. And you always come through."

Dillan nodded sharply and made to walk away, before Marcus spoke again.

"Who's this little shrimp?"

Dillan, who was now facing away from the obese man, seemed to almost smack himself in the face, aborting the action before he could carry it out. He turned slowly and plastered a smile on his mouth. Harry thought it looked as if he was grimacing in pain.

"This is my apprentice. Seth Dallas. Seth, meet Marcus." Dillan waved his arm at the fat man as if showing Harry some marvelous work of art.

"You take this little fairy boy as your protégé, but you refuse my son?"

A mixture of humor and anger fought for dominance on the assassin's face.

"With all due respect, which is not much, I'm afraid, your son is as about as fat and useless as you are."

"With all due respect, which is not much, I'm afraid," Marcus began, his jowls quivering with anger as he repeated what the assassin had just said.

Dillan just smiled.

"I hired you because I can be a merciful man. But there are plenty of people, in this room, in fact, that spit on the ground you walk on." Marcus threatened, and the assassin's smile widened as he took a step closer.

"Why don't you go ahead and hire one right now? I've been itching for a good fight."

Marcus actually spat on the ground at Dillan's words, and the assassin just kept on smiling.

When the fat man took his leave, most likely to do just as Dillan suggested, Harry turned to his mentor, wide eyed.

"Are you sure that was a good idea?" He said in a hushed whisper.

"Dude, I hate that guy. Besides, there's no one here that can beat me in a fight. They've hated me for a rather long time, and I'm not dead yet." Dillan grinned and watched the fat man approach a man with black hair and a sword at his hip.

The assassin and his protégé were unaware of the beady eyed man and the black haired woman standing closely behind them.

"Why do they hate you?" Harry asked, curious. Dillan seemed to be a nice guy, as far as Harry could tell. Besides the whole killing people for money thing.

"I might tell you later, but I thought you might have figured it out already." Dillan smirked, leading Harry towards the bar and away from the angry fat man.

"Figured what out how?" His apprentice asked, wondering how on earth he was supposed to know without having a clue.

"You're not very perceptive. We'll have to fix that, I suppose."

Harry wasn't sure whether or not he should be offended. He scanned the room, still worried about the fight Dillan had caused, and spotted the black haired man making his way, supposedly casually, through the crowd towards them.

"Dillan!" Harry hissed. He made to tug on the mans sleeve, but thought better of it.

"I know, calm down." The assassin responded, reaching slowly for his weapon and sipping lightly on his wine.

"How do you know?" Harry whispered, curious.

"That potion I showed you. I told you I'm never without it, especially on a night like tonight." Dillan explained, his hand resting on a knife Harry didn't recognize.

"But wouldn't everyone else be taking it too?" Harry wondered.

"Some, but no one can pin point where the burst is coming from, let alone what the person is looking for."

Harry wished he had taken the echolocation potion, but he was useless at using it.

Before the younger wizard could blink, Dillan spun and pressed his knife to the black haired man's neck who was now right behind them, just as he pressed his sword to Dillan's own throat.

To Harry's surprise, Both men took a step back and lowered their weapons, bowing slightly and not taking their eyes of the other.

"Strahowski," The man with the sword said, almost in greeting as he rose.

"Striker," Dillan responded with a grimace. Harry recognized the name, this was most likely the guy Ron had recently hired.

The occupants of the room had now noticed a fight was brewing, and they had moved back to form a circle around the two men.

Harry still stood just behind Dillan, and he wasn't sure whether or not he should step back.

On one hand, he was likely to get impaled whilst just standing there, looking confused.

On the other, he didn't want to look like a coward in front of his mentor.

Hoping to compromise, he took a few small steps back, and as a result, drew Striker's attention.

"Looks like your little fuck buddy isn't very confident in your abilities." Striker laughed, and Harry's mouth fell open.

_Fuck buddy? What?_

"Well, if he isn't now, he will be in a minute." Dillan said. Harry couldn't see his face, but he didn't sound very shocked at all by what Striker had said. Harry couldn't close his mouth, and actually found himself wanting his mentor to stab the guy already.

To be honest though, it looked to be an uneven fight.

A sword against a knife. It was a good looking knife, no doubt, but the sword was long enough to poke a hole in you from a distance.

Dillan's knife was a curvy black thing, and Harry wondered where his gold one was, and if this one was obsidian, like Harry's hatchets were.

The two assassin's started circling each other slowly, and Harry took another step back. He hardly wanted to be within striking distance of the sword.

As Striker got closer and Dillan further away, the younger wizard got nervous. Striker gave Harry an exaggerated wink, and Dillan's lip twitched.

"Jumpy little thing, isn't he? Can't imagine he's any good in bed," Damien laughed, and for whatever reason, Harry was offended.

Sure, he didn't have sex often, but he liked to think that he didn't do to bad a job of it.

At least he hoped he did a good job of it. It wasn't really something that he and Ginny spoke about. Maybe he should ask.

Harry was snapped back to the present by a loud crack, followed by a growl. It seemed that Dillan and Damien had already connected, and Striker had Dillan pinned to the ground, who was the source of the growling. At the very same time, Harry's mentor had a ridiculous grin on his face.

Harry was having a hard time figuring out what exactly had happened, and why Dillan was smiling, even though he was at such an obvious disadvantage. Striker had his sword pressed hard against Dillan's knife, and if the assassin faltered for even a second, his throat was sure to be shredded.

But, despite all that, Dillan started laughing. Harry watched with wide eyes as Dillan shoved back, making Damien struggle to keep control.

Dillan laughed harder, making Harry wonder if he was altogether stable in the head.

"Maybe," Dillan panted, breathless from laughter and the strain of keeping the blade from his neck,

"I should have brought a knife that wasn't just decorative." Harry's mentor burst into giggles once more.

Harry's mouth had fallen open.

What did he mean, decorative?

Was it not sharp or something?

Everyone in the crowd become far more intrigued than they had been before, and Harry stared, still slightly open mouthed.

"Obsidian?" Damien said, also struggling to catch his breath.

Dillan didn't respond in words. Instead he gave a fierce push upward, and to Harry's absolute horror, his mentor's knife shattered like it was made of glass.

In the split second of surprise that the knife almost exploding had caused Damien, Dillan jammed a small shard of the knife into Striker's throat.

Shock crossed his features, before he stumbled off of Dillan, making awful choking noises and clutching his throat.

Damien appeared to be trying to say something, but unfortunately, only gargles where coming out.

A thin line of blood trickled out of the man's mouth, and with an angry, slightly bubbly and disgusting roar, he lunged at Dillan, who was still on the ground, swinging his sword manically with one hand. His other hand still clutching his bleeding neck.

Harry's mentor only smiled somewhat genially, like a butler would as he took your coat, and as soon as Striker was in range, raised his leg and booted him so hard in the chest Harry was certain that he heard a rib crack.

A sound like a cat being run over escaped Damien's mouth, and Harry cringed as Striker feel to his knees.

Dillan stood slowly, and even took the time to brush of the invisible dirt from his knees.

The only wounds that Harry could see on him were slight scratches on his face and neck, most likely from his exploding knife.

He wandered almost without direction towards the man who was now spitting blood in the floor, whimpering slightly as he tried to claw the shard from his neck.

"You know, I never wanted this to happen. It was your own fault, Damien." Dillan sighed.

Damien spat blood at Dillan's feet.

"Fucking fag." His words were nearly ineligible, but Harry heard them just fine. Apparently, so did Dillan.

Harry's mentor once again smiled the genial smile, and picked up the now abandoned sword.

He slowly got down to Damien's level, and smiled wider.

"This is a rather nice sword. Your father made it for you, didn't he?" though it was a question, Dillan didn't seem to want it to be answered, because he drove the sword through Damien's ribs so fiercely it came out of his back.

"How's this for a fag?" He snarled in Striker's ear, and Harry was sure that he was the only one who heard the harsh whisper, because Damien appeared to already be dead.

Harry was also sure that he was going to be sick.


	9. Do you feel like a better person?

_(A/n: hiya :) if any of you read LT, don't worry. It's not abandoned, and it is coming. Slowly. Patience, my darlings. Patience. And . , thank you. You darling darling creature. You made my day. You're the beautiful one, not me :)) _

"-Th?"

A voice trailed into his mind, but Harry was to busy staring wide eyed at the dead man on the floor.

"Seth? Knock it off."

Again, he ignored the voice, who he assumed was Dillan.

"Seth!" The voice snapped a moment later, followed by a light shove in the shoulder. He finally, slowly, turned to face his mentor.

"Stop staring at him like you've never seen a dead person before! It makes it pretty clear to everyone looking at us that you're completely inexperienced." Dillan hissed in Harry's ear, making him shiver despite himself.

"Now go and get my wand for me. Take a breather while you're up there. It's in the study. And I am sorry you had to see that." Dillan whispered, the last part coming out softer and quieter than the rest.

"Where's the study?" Harry's voice was dry. His eyes had returned to the corpse. Though he had seen death, he now realised that he would one day be the one doing the killing. And that shook him to the core.

"It's the door straight ahead when you get up the stairs. Go and calm down, okay? But don't take to long, I need to clean this up." Dillan gently turned Harry to face the stairs, and he tore his eyes from the dead man, heading towards the stair case and trying to look as normal as possible.

People whispered as they parted for him, but he wasn't sure if they were whispering about his odd behaviour, or the murder they had just witnessed.

Once he had climbed the stairs, he noticed the door directly ahead of him was slightly open, and light was spilling out.

He could have been wrong, but he swore that the door had been closed the last time he saw it.

Instantly on alert, Harry edged closer to the door as quietly as he could, given his amped up adrenalin and slight case of shock.

As soon as he was within range, he heard whispering inside, and drew his wand. He took another step forward, and prepared himself to shove the door open.

He had the element of surprise, but there was definitely more than one person in the room. That was the tricky part.

He considered going back downstairs to warn Dillan, but instantly dismissed the idea. His mentor would burst in, knifes blazing.

He wasn't keen on seeing any more death that night.

Drawing in a deep and quiet breath, he listened for another second, making sure he hadn't alerted them of his presence. The frantic whispering continued, and Harry let his breath out and burst into the room, his wand aimed and ready.

The two people in the room turned with shock on their faces. They had obviously been rummaging through the draws of the desk. Neither had time to draw their wands.

They stared at Harry in shock, and he stared right back, for what felt like a very long while.

"What do you think you're doing?" He asked finally, trying to inject some danger into his voice.

Neither of them said anything, merely looking at each other and shifting slightly.

Harry straightened his wand arm in warning, sensing that they might try to draw their wands.

"Don't give me a reason to curse you. Tell me what you're doing in here." He pushed, his voice a harsh whisper. Though there was music downstairs, he didn't want to alert his mentor.

"We were just leaving." The woman said, looking to her accomplice as if looking for approval.

"Yeah, we're leaving now. We wont cause any trouble."

Harry had watched the two of them with scrutiny as they spoke. There was something familiar about them. Very familiar.

"Who are you?" He asked, his voice dripping with suspicion. He knew these people. He was sure of it. He just couldn't put his finger on it. There was something about the way they held themselves...

"We're no body. We meant no harm." The woman persisted, and Harry's jaw dropped as he realised who they were.

Ron and Hermione.

"What the hell are you two doing? Do you have any idea where you are, or are you both mentally challenged?" Harry blurted before he could stop himself.

The two looked confused by the outburst, and Harry spoke once more, in an attempt to get them to forget about his sudden shouting.

"This place is more dangerous than I think you realise," He began in a calmer tone.

"Are you aware that my mentor just ran someone through with a sword? That guy's dead now. If he knew you were here, in his study, riffling through his things, what do you think he would do?"

Ron looked green in the face.

Hermione bit her lip and glanced around the room as if looking for signs that her death was imminent.

"He'd fucking ruin you both. Get out of here. The both of you. And don't come back. These wards, they've been altered for tonight only. If you come back through them, you'll wish you were dead." He made the last part up. He had no idea what the wards did if someone who wasn't permitted entered them, but he was sure it wasn't pretty.

"Climb out the window. Now." He pressed, more urgently.

"How do we know you're not just trying to get us to turn our backs?" Ron, ever the paranoid one, asked.

"If I wanted you dead I could just make a loud noise, couldn't I? He's waiting for me." Harry warned.

"Why are you helping us?" Hermione asked, confused.

"That's none of your concern. Now go. I have to be downstairs." Harry made a flicking motion with his wand toward the window, and this seemed to startle them into action. Ron pulled the window up and Hermione drew her wand, presumably to cast a feather light charm on her husband and herself, but Harry kept his wand aimed at them, just in case she picked that moment to be brave. Braver than usual, at least.

He was right in assuming that she was casting a charm to make them float gracefully to the ground, and he watched the two of them bolt across the lawn, waiting to make sure they made it out of the wards safely before pulling the window closed and searching for Dillan's wand.

He found it in the top drawer, and was glad that they hadn't taken it. Harry wondered if they had taken anything, and found himself worried. He should have told them to empty their pockets, or something. But it was to late for that.

He exited the room, trying to spot anything out of place, but since he had never seen the study before now, it was a rather wasted endeavour.

He made he way down stairs for the second time that night, and was surprised to see that everyone had pretty much gotten over the fact that there was a dead man on the floor. Drinks were once again flowing, and everyone was back to chatting and laughing as if it had never happened.

Harry wondered what he had gotten himself into, and felt a stab of fear. Would he be like that, one day? Completely unaffected by death? He supposed it was normal, for a murderer.

He felt the colour drain from his face as he thought about it.

He pushed the thought from his mind, just as he pushed through the crowd. There was a time and a place to wonder about his morals. Now and here was not it.

When he reached his mentor, he gave the man his wand and received a frown for his efforts.

"What took you so long?" Dillan whispered, his tone slightly clipped.

"I'm sorry, I just needed a minute." Harry said, turning away slightly.

"That's all well and good, but competence and speed are highly valued things in this community. You may not see it, but every one here is judging you. They're judging me, too. I said you could take a minute, not twenty of them," Dillan said, his tone lightening slightly towards the end, as if his anger was fizzling out.

Harry said nothing, and tried to look appropriately cowed.

Dillan sighed and gestured for Harry to follow him. He levitated the dead body that Harry had been pointedly ignoring, and raised it above everyone's heads.

The people moved out of their way as Harry's mentor headed toward the front door, corpse floating above everyone like a sick flag.

Harry pushed the front doors open for Dillan and followed him around the side of the manor. They walked a fair distance, and Harry wondered whether they were still in the wards by the time they stopped.

They were standing in front of a large slab of stone, and it took Harry a moment to try and figure out what they were doing.

It looked like a place where you might burn a body.

"What are we doing?" Harry asked. He had a fair idea, he just wanted to be sure.

"We're burning him," Dillan answered, slowly lowering the body onto the stone.

The younger man said nothing when his suspicions were confirmed.

Harry watched as if he weren't really there as his mentor took a match out of his inner robe pocket and lit it. He began lighting various places on the dead assassin's robes.

Said robes were obviously flammable, because the flames grew quickly.

Harry didn't bother to ask why he had used a match instead of his wand. It was likely the same thing as wanting to use a shovel instead of magic.

Though he was curious about why he wasn't burying the other assassin.

Dillan looked over at Harry once the fire was lit, his face expectant, as if he were waiting for his apprentice to comment on the match.

Harry didn't. Instead he sat down heavily on the grass, looking into but not really seeing the flames. After a moment, Dillan crouched down next to him.

"Why did you burn him, and not bury him?" Harry asked quietly after a moment.

"I save burial for people who have done nothing against me."

"And he's done something against you?" Harry's tone was dead pan.

"Yes."

"Hmm. Are you going to tell me what?" The younger wizard asked, glancing at his mentor from the corner of his eye.

"Maybe one day."

Harry glanced back at the now roaring flames and repressed an urge to sigh. Again, he wondered what he had gotten himself into.

He could be at home right now, with Ginny. It would be miserable, and he would be hungry, but that was usual for him.

At first, the idea of becoming an assassin was very abstract. For whatever reason, he assumed that it had nothing to do with him. That somehow, magically, without any effort on his part, the people who he was supposed to kill would just drop dead.

Or that maybe he would never have to do it.

But that night, he was faced with a harsh reality.

And he had to decide whether or not it was worth it.

Was it worth throwing his soul away?

"Are you okay?" Dillan asked from beside him.

"Not really." Harry answered truthfully.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Harry repeated, looking away from the fire and into the trees behind it.

"Was there a reason he called you a faggot?" Harry wondered aloud.

"Is that what's bothering you?" Dillan asked, not sounding angry or surprised.

"No. I just need to think about something different." Harry answered honestly.

"It could have been because I like fucking men, but I never stopped to ask him." Dillan gave a short sarcastic laugh with his answer and Harry blushed scarlet, choking on his spit. He was glad it was dark.

"Does that shock you?" Dillan asked, his voice quiet and somehow pleading.

"I think it could be the way you said it that shocked me. But I don't know." Harry pulled at the grass around himself and turned to look at his mentor, and found Dillan studying him intensely.

"Shouldn't we be getting back?" Harry asked, feeling uncomfortable under the weight of Dillan's stare.

"If that's what you want," Dillan said, looking away and making no move to stand.

"I don't know. I don't really want to go back in there." Harry said, and he was telling the truth. He didn't want to go inside.

He wanted to stay here and watch the body burn, with the assassin who killed him.

"Then we'll stay here," Dillan said with finality.

"Why didn't you just use my wand, earlier?" Harry asked, dismissing his dark thoughts.

"Because I didn't want too." Dillan said in a tone that left no room for questioning.

Harry said nothing for a while, curious about what his mentor had said but not asking questions. His mind wandered to when he had first met the assassin, and he got to being curious about something else entirely.

"Your knife," Harry began,

"The gold one, is there, I mean, is it, um." Harry stopped talking then, unsure about the question he was asking.

Dillan laughed quietly, but otherwise let Harry struggle with his words.

"Is it just a normal knife?" Harry finally asked.

"You mean this one?" Dillan asked, pulling it seemingly out of no where.

"Yeah." Harry said, looking away from it quickly, embarrassed by the memories it brought.

The younger man heard a sigh of pleasure and had to look back at his mentor, even though he didn't want to.

The man was running the golden blade across his hand, blood beading a trail behind it. Harry couldn't tell whether he was aroused or disgusted, or disgusted because he was aroused, but he couldn't look away.

"It's blessed," Dillan began, his voice breathy and quick.

"The deeper you cut, the better it feels. People have been known to kill themselves with this blade, simply because they couldn't stop." Every word Dillan said came out erotic, the pleasure in his voice made it impossible for him to sound anything but. He ran the blade higher up his arm, careful not to cut to deep, humming with pleasure as he did so.

"Why didn't you use it earlier, in the fight?" Harry was hypnotised by what he was seeing, and his voice gave it away.

Dillan looked up at him and smirked, his eyes hooded and lazy, before he replaced the knife where ever it had come from in the first place.

Harry almost objected, and then he realised that that was just insane. What was wrong with him?

"Because that bastard hardly deserved this knife,"

Harry cleared his throat and looked pointedly away. He said nothing about the other assassin not deserving it, because he knew he wasn't about to divulge any details about why, exactly, he didn't.

"So you thought I deserved it?" Harry whispered, his question almost lost in the roar of the flames.

"Yes. You've never done anything to wrong me, have you?" What seemed like a statement came out more like a serious question, and Harry turned once again to look at the assassin.

"No, I haven't." He said, though he wasn't sure.

Was letting his friends go wrong? Would his mentor see it that way?

Dillan sighed and shifted slightly, and Harry couldn't tell if Dillan believed him. The assassin stood suddenly, and stretched his arms above his head.

"Come on, the fire should burn through the night." He told Harry.

The younger man had thought they weren't going back in till the gala was over, but he stood and brushed the grass and the dirt of his behind, anyway.

He followed his mentor back to the manor, and ran a hand through his hair and brushed his ass off one more time.

He didn't want to walk in his grass on him or messy hair. People would assume, incorrectly, that he and Dillan, had, well, done something.

Something that didn't involve burning a body.

He should have done what Dillan did, and just crouched, instead of sitting.

"Here,"

Harry was startled out of fixing himself up. Dillan was pointing his wand at his apprentice.

"It's to get rid of the burning smell." Dillan had paused at the word burning, as if he had been about to say something else.

Possibly char grilled human.

Harry grimaced and nodded.

He hadn't noticed any smell. He wasn't sure why that was, but he was glad that he didn't.

After waiting for Dillan to cast the spell on both of them, Harry pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Not many people turned to look at them, but Harry could feel every eye in the room on him. He resisted the urge to duck his head in shame.

He wasn't sure why he felt ashamed, but he did.

It wasn't as if he had killed the assassin, and even if he had, it wasn't like anyone in the room gave a crap about it.

They were hardly staring at Dillan with disgust on their faces.

Nevertheless, Harry felt shamed. He couldn't wait till the gala was over. He wouldn't mind getting drunk. Possibly blindingly so.

* * *

Harry sat in front of the now lit fire, on the now replaced plush rug. He was hidden from the last few guests by the lounge chairs, now also returned. He peeked over the couch at Dillan, who was saying his farewells to the stragglers.

When they finally took their leave, Harry sighed with relief.

He ran a hand through his hair, wondering if the enchantment that changed his appearance would wear of on it's own, or he had to change it back with magic.

Dillan took a seat on the couch, leaning into the cushions and sighing.

"Would you mind if I had a drink?" Harry asked.

"Just the one?" the assassin asked sarcastically.

"Maybe more than one." Harry sighed, feeling almost more tense than he had been when the gala was still in full swing.

"Would you like me to make it for you?" Dillan said after it had become apparent that Harry was making no move to get off the floor.

"Oh, yes please." Harry said, almost finding humour in the situation.

Dillan stood with a sigh and busied himself at the bar, while Harry picked at the threads of the rug beneath him.

"Here," The assassin said after a moment, standing before Harry, closer than the Boy Who Lived thought was necessary.

He was leaning over the younger man, drink in hand, smirking. Harry took the glass and grimaced at the blood rushing to his face.

He didn't look at the assassin until he was back in his seat, with his own drink.

* * *

Three hours and ten Black Dahlias later, Harry was laying on the floor staring up at the chandelier and attempting to create a snow angel in the plush carpet.

Dillan looked on with a lazy smile and hooded eyes.

"Do you believe in God?" Harry asked suddenly, lifting his head and looking at his mentor.

"How do you mean?" Dillan replied, bringing his drink to his lips and licking the rim of his glass.

Harry noticed himself licking his own lips and snapped his tongue back in his mouth, shocked.

"Exactly how I asked it," The younger man said after he had torn his eyes away from Dillan's mouth.

"I suppose on some small level I believe there is something. But it doesn't matter to me."

Harry let his head fall back into the rug, licking his lips once more. "Do you ever think that he looks at the human race and wonders, 'Why did I ever create these vile things?'"

"No, but I suppose that's probable." Dillan said, standing and crossing once again to the bar.

"Do you think anyone else wonders about that?" Harry pressed, not sure why he wanted to know so badly.

"Most likely," Dillan said, looking over his shoulder at the man laying on the floor.

"Do you think it inspires them to be better people?" The Boy Who Lived sat up and propped himself on his elbows, staring intently at his mentors turned back.

"Does it make you feel as if you need to be a better person?" The assassin asked, focusing on the drinks that he was pouring. Harry thought about it for a moment, and realised with a pang that no, it didn't really.

What God thought didn't really equate into what he felt he needed to do.

Harry didn't answer, instead he watched the Freelancer make his way back to Harry, and to the younger man's surprise, he sat on the floor, so close their legs were brushing lightly against the others.

Harry made no move to shift away. Instead, though he didn't know why, he pressed his leg ever so slightly closer as he took the drink the assassin handed him.

Judging by the tiny smirk gracing Dillan's mouth, he had noticed.

"I take you silence to mean that no, you don't want to become a 'better person,'" Dillan asked, looking from their legs.

"No, I don't. I cant afford morals." Harry said, taking a sip and licking the blackberry flavoured alcohol from his lips.

A deep, throaty chuckle came from the man seated beside Harry, and he couldn't help but smile at the sound.

"Well done Harry. You might not do so bad, after all."


End file.
